


My Way Back To You

by Ness09



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst, Disabled Character, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-22 09:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ness09/pseuds/Ness09
Summary: When Stan wakes up and remembers everything for the first time in years, he has to come to terms with the fact that life has gone on without him. That Bill is not with him anymore and as much as he wants him back, Stan might just go to sleep and forget him all over again.





	1. Waking Up To A Nightmare

Something is wrong. He knows this even before he opens his eyes that morning. His left hand fumbles through the covers and lands in emptiness, the bed just stops. Which is… well, maybe they switched sides, they never do, but there’s a first time for everything. His right hand comes in painful contact with the wall.

Now he jerks fully awake. This is not his bed. The sheets smell different, it's too small and most importantly there's no Bill. When he looks around the room, he finds this is not their bedroom. Where the hell is he? Did they go out last night? Did he drink too much? The last thing he remembers is taking the subway home. He tries so hard to remember what comes next, but comes up blank. Where is Bill? Maybe they had a fight and he got so drunk he blacked out, maybe he got so drunk he went home with someone else. His stomach turns at that thought. He would never do that to Bill! As sappy as it sounds Stan sometimes thinks Bill is the love of his life. If he did anything to hurt Bill, he'd never forgive himself.

He looks around the room and that feeling in his gut that something is wrong intensifies. This is not his room, but his stuff is here. There’s the binoculars his father gave him on the windowsill, pictures of his family and friends on the bookcase on the opposite wall, and those books are definitely his. He recognizes the copy of Pride and Prejudice that Bev had given him for his last birthday; he knows it’s his because Richie accidentally – probably not so accidentally – spilled his beer all over it and it still has the stains. What is going on here?

He jumps out of bed and goes to investigate the pictures more closely. There are none of Bill. What the hell? There’s Richie and Bev at a concert during those few months Richie had insisted to dye his hair purple. There’s one of Stan, Bev and Richie sitting in a café and he thinks that one in particular is weird, because that was the night of Bill’s first reading. Stan still remembers how nervous he was. There's pictures of his parents, their arms around each other and smiling at the camera, he doesn't think he's ever seen the one of them in front of a lighthouse, but here it is, staring him in the face.

It’s only then that he hears voices. Wherever he is, he’s not alone. There are people in his apartment or house. As quietly as he can, he walks to the door, but doesn’t open it, too scared of what he’ll find. This room… it’s… There’s a bed and there’s a sitting area and he’s pretty sure that door back there at the end of his bed leads to a bathroom, and all of it reminds Stan of a hotel, a weirdly personalized hotel.

While he still contemplates that, the door flies open and Stan stumbles backwards so he won't get hit in the head by it. The woman that enters - short, a little plump, middle-aged, wearing purple scrubs - blinks at him in surprise, but then she laughs. “Don't sneak up on me like that, Stan. I was going to wake you, or you’ll miss breakfast.”

She looks like… a nurse? What the fucking hell is going on here? He doesn’t know what scares him more, the fact that she’s a nurse or that she seems to know him so well or that he has a room in a hospital that looks like actual living space or… His chest aches as he tries to take even breaths, but he feels like there’s no air in this room, like he’s suffocating right in front of the eyes of a fucking nurse.

She takes one look at him and even in this state, where his throat is tied up, his chest is stone-heavy and his head starts spinning, Stan notices her smile change. She pities him.

“Stan”, she says. Her voice is soft and soothing and Stan doesn’t back away, when she grabs his arm and leads him to the sofa. “It’s alright. I know you’re scared, but it’s alright. I need you to calm down. I need you to mimic my breathing, okay?”

She places a hand on his chest and breathes with him. Stan thinks it’s the stupidest thing and can’t she see he’s dying here? She should call a doctor or get him an oxygen mask or just anything that will help him breathe again. It's either humoring her or dying, so Stan does as she says. He focuses on her chest rising and falling with every deep breath and tries to do the same and even though he thinks it's stupid, it helps.

When he’s calmed down enough, she continues. “Stan, I’m Maggie. It looks like you relapsed earlier than usual. I will get your doctor to fill you in, alright? I’ll be back in no time, I promise.”

And then she leaves and Stan sits on the sofa in nothing but his underwear and can feel his chest tighten again. Relapse? Doctor? Where the hell is he? Where is Bill? What happened to him on that damn subway? He tries to remember again, tries to rake his brain for any information, but there’s nothing there. He was on the subway going home after his last class of the day. He and Bill were supposed to host game night that evening, he wondered if Bill had remembered to buy the pretzels Bev loved so much and thought that maybe he should go by the store on his way home and buy some just to be sure. And then he wakes up and he’s here and there’s a nurse and a doctor and apparently he had a relapse. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Before he can freak out again, Maggie comes back, followed by what must be the doctor, but it’s not the kind of doctor Stan expected. The woman is younger than Maggie, but taller with long dark hair. She doesn’t wear scrubs or a white coat, just a very comfy-looking cardigan and sneakers. If it weren’t for her nametag and the file she carries, she could’ve been anyone.

“Good morning, Stan”, she says and extends her hand to him. “I’m Dr. Pine, but you can call me Noelle. You do that sometimes.”

He shakes her hand and watches as she takes a seat next to him. How long has he been here if he calls his doctor by her first name? If she calls him by his first name?

“What’s going on?” It’s the first time he speaks and he hates that his voice breaks.

“You’ve been in an accident two years ago, Stan. You have a condition called amnesia, a very rare one at that. Your ability to retain new memories is severely inhibited and you relapse every 3-5 days, meaning, I’ve had this same conversation with you many times before.” She smiles at him, flicks through the pages of his file and notes something down. “Actually we just went over this two days ago, which is why Maggie and I are a bit concerned.”

Accident? Amnesia? Two fucking years? Is this a joke? Is this some sick prank Richie came up with? He likes to prank them and Stan hates the pranks, but this one… no, even Richie wouldn’t do something like this. And where is Bill?

“I know this is a lot to take in, but you’re safe here. This is a home for people like you, who are unable to live on their own after head trauma.”

He’s in a home? He can feel his face drop. If all of this is true, that makes no sense. Bill would never put him in a home, he just wouldn’t. Or would he? The Bill he knew wouldn't, but maybe Bill had gotten sick of him and was glad to be rid of him.

“But I wouldn’t live a-alone”, he says, hoarsely. “Why can’t I live with Bill?”

Dr Pine raises her eyebrows, then goes back to check her file. It takes her a while to find what she’s looking for and when she looks up again, there’s something new in the way she looks at him. More than thinly veiled pity. “Are you talking about William Denbrough?”

“Of course, I am!” Who the fuck else would he be talking about? How does she not know Bill? How long did she say? Two years? If he’s really been here for two years, she must know Bill. Even if Bill had put him in a home, he would at least visit and make sure he was okay, right?

“Interesting”, she says and takes more notes. Stan is about ready to take her pen and throw it across the room, when she looks up again. Her smile is brighter now. “Usually the last thing you remember is getting on a plane to study in New York. You always assume your plane crashed.”

“What?” That couldn’t be right. Because he remembers Bill, he remembers Richie and he remembers Bev, all of them he’s only known since he started university here. “You said it only affects new memories.”

With a slight shake of her head, she says: “No, it also made you forget the…”

“Last three years of my life?”, he asks and if he hadn’t already been sitting, he’d be falling down right now. He can feel a headache coming on and all he wants to do is go back to bed and pretend this is all just a dream. He’ll wake up in his bed at home, next to Bill and he’ll tell him about the silly nightmare he had, where he got in an accident and forgot everything and somebody put him in a home.

“Listen, Stan”, she says and puts a hand on his knee. Stan immediately pulls away, which she doesn’t react to. “This is new. This has never happened in all the time I’ve been your doctor so I’d like to run some tests, if that’s okay with you.”

Stan nods, because what the hell else is he supposed to do. Does he really have this conversation every week? Does it always go like this? And why, why is Bill not here? If he doesn't get an answer to that, he's going to freak out.

She gets up and looks down at him. “The first day is always rough, but you usually adapt pretty quickly. Why don’t you go and join the others for breakfast and I’ll call your contact to come and visit you? I’ll be back later for the tests.”

When she’s gone Stan remains seated on the couch. He has no desire to join anyone for breakfast, he doesn’t know them anyway and he’s definitely not hungry. Two years he’s been here. Two years, and today is the first time he remembers Bill and his friends. But there are pictures of Richie and Bev here, why are there no pictures of Bill?

Slowly he walks over to the closet and puts on clothes. Some he recognizes as his own, some are new. Did he buy them? Did someone buy them for him? His contact? He wonders who that is. At first, he hopes it’s Bill, but then he remembers Dr. Pine's reaction when he asked for him. No, it’s not Bill. Maybe it’s his mother or his father and the idea makes Stan feel sick all over again. Is he even still in New York or did they send him back home? Stan remembers his parents’ reaction to being introduced to Bill and although they weren’t awful about it, he still knew they were disappointed. To this day he doesn’t know if it’s because Bill is a guy or because Bill isn’t Jewish. Imagine the disappointment when they found out that Stan had lost his mind, literally lost his mind and couldn’t fulfill any of their plans for him, not that he ever had wanted to do that, but still…

When he’s dressed, he moves over to the window. The view is not bad and for the first time he asks himself who pays for this, because this place must be expensive. There’s a park outside, it’s small, but it’s something. He tries to judge by the buildings if he’s still in New York and thinks he might be, but big cities all look the same, right? At least he’s not in Derry, Maine, there’s that. He stands there, looking outside for what feels like an eternity.

The door opens with a bang, making Stan jump. “Stan the Man! I hear you remember me today!” Stan doesn’t think he’s ever been so damn happy to hear Richie’s voice in his life.


	2. A Bitter Pill To Swallow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie is the best friend anyone can ask for! Fight me if you disagree! And we find out what happened to Bill

He whirls around and is taken aback for a second. Richie hasn’t changed, at least not as far as Stan can tell, but he’s probably never seen Richie look at him with so much love. Maybe it’s that or maybe it’s because Richie is the first familiar face around here, but Stan throws himself at him, throwing his arms around his neck and clings to him.

There’s a low chuckle coming from Richie, but then Stan feels his arms wrap around him, feels Richie’s stubble against his cheek, smells the cigarette smoke and cologne on him and it’s Richie alright. They stand like this for a while. Although Stan still thinks he’s only seen Richie yesterday – and maybe he has, Richie is his contact after all – it feels like forever ago.

Eventually he pulls away and looks at Richie, holding his breath. It’s now or never. He thinks that even if this is the cruelest prank Richie has ever played on him, he’d be so relieved right now, he couldn’t even be mad at him. However, the slightly taller man only smiles at him.

“I could get used to this”, Richie says. “Two days ago you called me a fucking psychopath when I got here to fill you in.” He walks to the shelf and picks up the picture of them and Bev. “I had to keep showing you this until you would listen.”

Stan takes the picture and puts it back. He’s called Richie worse things than that, but he’s never meant them and although Richie treats it as a joke, Stan feels horrible about it.

“You’re my contact?”

“Not who you’d expect, huh?” He scratches his neck and smiles crookedly. “Your parents come by as often as they can. They wanted to get you back to Derry, but the docs said it would be better for your recovery to stay here. Bev and I took turns in the beginning, but… uhm… well, I’m doing it now.”

Stan frowns. “What happened to Bev?”

“Nothing, nothing. She still comes by just not right after you relapse. Let’s be honest, wouldn’t you rather have this,” he gestures to his face with a grin, “be the first thing you see than her freckly mug?”

Stan laughs despite himself, because it slowly sinks in that this is real, that he did forget them, but Richie is still the same Richie and he would never have thought that that is a reassuring thought. The laugh doesn’t last long though. Not only does he feel guilty for not remembering his friends and apparently being awful to them, but he’s also a huge burden on Richie and he just needs to know about Bill.

“What about Bill? Why doesn’t he come to see me?” The words come out sounding more accusing than he means to, but fuck it. Why _is_ Bill not visiting him?

Richie studies the pictures on the shelf as if he’s seeing them for the first time. He’s chewing on his lower lip and Stan honestly doesn’t know if Richie is contemplating what to say, if he’s nervous or maybe sad, because Richie bites his lips when he’s sad too. Stan remembers his first Thanksgiving in New York, having his flight home cancelled and heading back to his and Richie’s apartment only to find his friend on the sofa, playing depressing as fuck music on the guitar and biting his lips bloody. That was how Stan found out about Richie’s family being awful and about the sad lip biting.

It’s only now that he’s build up some anger over Bill leaving him in a home and never visiting that another much worse thought squeezes itself to the forefront of Stan’s mind. He was in an accident, but he doesn’t know what kind of accident. What if Bill was in the accident with him? What if Bill isn’t visiting because he’s dead? What if there’s no pictures of him so Richie doesn’t have to explain about him?

The longer Richie takes to respond, the surer Stan is that that’s what happened. Bill is dead and suddenly Stan is not so interested in remembering anymore. He’ll gladly forget about everything again just so he won’t have to deal with the hollow feeling radiating from his chest and spreading to his body. Numb fingers grab for the denim of Richie’s jacket. He doesn’t want to hear it, but he needs Richie to say it, he needs to be sure. His eyes burn and his breath comes out in shallow little puffs.

“Stan”, Richie says and it sounds so far away.

His mouth is paper-dry, his tongue barely responds, when he whispers: “Is he…?”

“Jesus, Fuck, Stan”, Richie says, slips an arm around his waist and holds him up. “No, Bill is fine.”

That’s when the tears start. One hand is still curled in Richie’s jacket, the other grabs his shoulder and Stan leans his head against Richie and just cries. He is relieved, of course, he is, but it also means Bill doesn’t want to see him. Maybe Richie is the only one who still comes and visits – yes, he said Bev does to, but he’ll believe that when he sees it – and Stan wonders why he bothers if Stan doesn’t remember him anyway. They could probably make him a video like in that movie 50 First Dates and then play it whenever his brain loops and forgets everything again.

Richie gives him time to cry, only plays with Stan’s hair a little, but then he takes a deep breath, leads Stan to the sofa and sits them both down.

Stan can’t remember the last time he’s seen Richie this serious, maybe never, and it’s a bit unsettling not having him being loud and gross and in your face.

“You lived with Bill after the accident”, Richie says. “Back then you were worse, relapsed all the fucking time. Sometimes you’d last a day, sometimes only a couple of hours. Bill had to constantly tell you where you are, who he is and what happened and… Dude, I love you, but you can be the meanest little cunt when you relapse.” He chuckles a little, but Stan knows not even Richie thinks it’s funny. “Anyway, it was a fucking mess and in the end Bill couldn’t do it anymore. He kept going for way longer than I thought he could. He was hurting so much.”

As much as Stan wants to think he could never lash out at Bill, he knows Richie is telling the truth. His disorientation this morning had been bad enough, but imagine waking up next to a stranger telling you he’s your boyfriend and has been for years. No, he doesn’t think he’d take that very well.

Stan takes a shaky breath. “So he put me here and just never came back?”

Richie sighs, running a hand over his stubbly chin. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Stan. You can’t really believe that. He never gave up on you. He would’ve run himself ragged, if we hadn’t stepped in. It wasn’t healthy for anyone. Bill visited, but in the end, it’s just better to let go. There was such a little chance of you ever remembering him. He had to move on, Stan.”

But he does remember. He remembers everything, like, meeting Bill at a concert Richie had dragged him along to.

 

_As soon as they entered the club, Stan felt a headache coming on. The music was loud and obnoxious and everything Richie loved and Stan hated. Why had he agreed to this again? Oh right, because Richie was his best friend and it was hard to say no to him, mostly because saying no only resulted in Richie whining and nagging until he gave in after all._

_He followed Richie through the crowd, letting him clear a path in which Stan could walk without constantly bumping into people. That worked out fine until they’d almost gotten to the stage, when Richie suddenly stopped out of nowhere and Stan nearly ran flat into his back. He didn’t, but instead he felt cold liquid trickle down his back and someone bump into him. Did nobody watch where they were going? Stan spun around, ready to rip someone’s head off, but had no chance to get a word out before the guy in front of him started apologizing._

_“Sh-shit I’m so s-s-s-sorry”, he stammered. Well, Stan had expected it to be some asshole, who was more worried about his spilt drink than Stan’s ruined shirt. “I should’ve l-l-looked where I w-was g-g-going. I’m sorry.”_

_The guy was kind of cute, obviously flustered with the way he stuttered out his words and judging by his red face; he had flushed all the way to the tip of his ears now. Stan was more concerned with his shirt clinging to his back, wondering what kind of gross, sticky drink was all over him right now. Richie turned around, finally noticing what a mess he’d caused and clapped him on the back. He immediately pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants._

_“Geez, Stanley, sweating much?”_

_Stan glared at him, his anger shifting from the obviously uncomfortable guy in front of him to his friend, who was partly to blame for this too. “How about you give a guy a warning next time you decide to suddenly grow roots?”, he hissed._

_Richie grinned at him, then shifted his focus to the guy with the spilt drink, who was still mumbling apologies. “Sorry, I made you spill your drink. And on Stan the Man no less. Dude holds grudges like you wouldn’t fucking believe.” Sure, that guy got an apology, but Stan – the actual victim here – only got made fun of._

_“It’s o-okay, really.” A small smile grew on his face now and Stan couldn’t help but stare at the curve of his lips. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly looked away, hoping no one had noticed._

_“Nah, I’ll buy you a new one”, Richie offered. He pinched Stan’s cheek. “I’ll get one for you too, babe, to cure that resting bitch face of yours.”_

_“This is just my face when I’m around you.”_

_He wasn’t sure if Richie had heard him or not, he was already making his way through the crowd towards the bar._

_“Your b-b-boyfriend?”_

_Stan stared at the guy as if he’d grown an additional head. Richie had called him babe, yes, but had he not listened to all the other stuff that’d came out of his mouth? “I wish”, Stan said. “Then I could at least dump him. I fear I’ll never get rid of him.”_

_It took him a moment to get that Stan was joking, but then he started to laugh and Stan joined in. Fine, his shirt was ruined and he felt sticky and dirty, but it wasn’t the end of the world, he supposed._

_“I’m B-bill”, the stranger said and stuck out his hand. It was only now that Stan thought Bill might actually have a stutter and it wasn’t just nerves._

_He shook his hand. “Stan.”_

The chances might have been slim, but he remembers now, so what the hell does it mean that Bill had to move on? Is he with someone else? The thought alone hurts, like, actual physical pain. They’ve been together for a bit over two years and Stan knows that that is not all that long, but sometimes, when Bill’s already fallen asleep and Stan lies awake, listening to his even breaths, he thinks that this might be it. Love of his life right there, only now he’s gone, moved on, whatever that means.

“Do you… do you still see him?”

Richie nods. “He took off for a while, didn’t tell anyone shit, just packed up and was gone. Scared me and Bev to death. Couple days later we get a call from Georgie, telling us they are travelling. He’s back now, but it’s not the same.”

“Then you can tell him”, Stan says. “That I remember.”

Richie inhales sharply, fumbles for a cigarette and has it already between his lips, when he remembers where he is and puts it back. Stan knows Richie is going to say no, but why? He remembers now, Bill needs to know that. Maybe they can figure something out. Stan is not stupid, he knows they can’t just jump back in, but he needs to see Bill, needs to talk to him.

“Shit”, Richie says. “I can’t do that, Stan. You might not remember next time you relapse and he’s finally doing better. I can’t tell him.”

He wants to disagree, wants to tell him to call Bill right this moment, but he doesn’t. He loves Bill, he loves him so much it hurts and maybe Richie is right. Maybe he will forget them all again next time he relapses and he can’t expect Bill to go through all of this again. Who even knows what he’s done to him in the past, what awful things he’s said to him? What if he got violent? It seems a little absurd to him now that he would ever hit Bill, but he can’t be sure. Maybe if he was scared enough, maybe then he would.

Sinking against Richie’s shoulder, all he can do is cry more and wait for it to not hurt anymore. “I hope I relapse tomorrow”, he mutters. And he means it.


	3. The Joys of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan meets his new friends and learns about his accident

“Alright, you can continue the crying, but first you need to eat something. I’m not doing a day full of doctor’s appointments with hangry Stan”, Richie says and pulls away.

He hasn’t been crying for the past ten minutes, but if it were up to him, he’d be sitting here, holding on to Richie for the rest of the day, go to sleep and then go back to not remembering anything. Richie has other plans, though. He takes Stan’s hand and leads him outside.

The hallways reminds Stan of the nursery home his grandmother used to live in and he doesn’t like it one bit. There’s a dozen doors with names on them, and Stan catches a glimpse at his own name as the doors swings shut behind him. He’s a patient. There’s files about him, there’s nurses and doctors speaking in soft voices to him and he has a contact because he can’t do anything on his own anymore. He hates it.

He’s glad Richie is there, because he’d get lost immediately, but Richie just keeps holding his hand and leads him towards the noise that is the dining room. It’s mostly empty, and Stan remembers the nurse, Maggie, telling him, he’d be late for breakfast. That already feels like hours ago. Unlike a nursery most of the people here aren’t seniors. The oldest person Stan can see is a man, who might be in his fifties, sitting in a wheelchair in the corner of the room.

Riche guides him to a table in the middle of the room, that’s already occupied by two men around their own age. Despite Stan’s unwillingness to join them, Richie pushes him into a chair and takes the one next to him.

“Mikey, Haystack, how are you guys doing?”, he says cheerfully.

“Same as two days ago.” The man stares at Stan with a blank expression, but his dark eyes are warm and attentive. It’s hard to meet his gaze, so Stan looks at the fat man next to him, who smiles brightly at him, making his blue eyes crinkle. “Maggie says you relapsed again. I’m Mike”, he says and Stan is forced to turn back to him. “I just want you to know, you like me best.”

Despite his joke, he’s still mostly expressionless, it’s weird.

“Uh… I… Ben.” The words come out, but Stan can see it takes a lot of effort. It reminds him a little of Bill, when he was having a particular bad day with his stutter, just worse than that.

“That’s a bold statement”, Richie says. “Considering he’s practically in love with me.”

“Everyone is”, Mike deadpans and makes Stan smile. Obviously, they know each other well and if they spent so much time together, it must mean that Mike wasn’t completely wrong and these are actually his friends. Must be weird to introduce yourself again every week.

Richie reaches over the table and turns the plate that’s looking forgotten in front of Mike. He’s eaten almost everything except for a small portion on the left side that he hasn’t even touched. “You still have something left there, buddy”, Richie says and gets up again. “I’ll go get Stan some food, you kids behave.”

Stan rolls his eyes as he leaves, but Mike and Ben just laugh.

“How are you?” Stan is surprised how easily the words roll of Ben’s tongue considering the effort it took him to introduce himself.

“I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in.”

Ben nods. “You… uh… you calm… dood.” Whatever that means, so Stan just nods in agreement, which is apparently the wrong thing to do, since Ben huffs and looks down at his empty plate.

“He means you’re calmer than usual. It’s good”, Mike says helpfully. “Ben can’t express himself very well right now, but he’s not dumb. He knows when you’re faking.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay”, Ben says, smiling again.

Mike fills him in as they wait for Richie to return. Ben’s only been in the home for a month. He’s had difficulty expressing himself after having a stroke. There’s also some problems with his right leg and arm, but he’s made much more progress in physiotherapy than speech therapy. Mike’s been here for almost as long as Stan following a nasty car accident. He doesn’t really go into details why he’s in a home, when he seems to be functioning quite well and Stan doesn’t push him. It doesn’t really matter to him.

Richie comes back just as Mike finishes and puts a plate of pancakes in front of Stan. He has another plate for himself with some PB&J sandwiches. Trust Richie to mooch food from disabled people. As he takes his fork and picks at the pancakes, Stan wishes Richie would’ve picked something else for him. It’s his favourite breakfast food, but it also reminds him of Pancake Sunday.

_“…and this is crazy”, Stan hummed under his breath as he stirred the pancake batter. “but here’s my number so call me maybe.”_

_The music was only on a low volume so Stan could hear the soft sound of Bill’s bare feet on the kitchen tiles, but he didn’t turn around, just waited for his boyfriend to snake his arms around his waist and rest his head on Stan’s shoulder._

_“You started w-w-without m-me”, Bill said, his voice still rough from sleep._

_“I waited as long as I could, but I’m not starving just because you stayed up all night writing.” Stan leaned into the hug and turned his head to kiss Bill’s temple._

_Bill squeezed him a little tighter before letting go. “S-s-sorry. I know I s-said I’d c-c-come to bed, but…”_

_Stan shook his head. He was glad Bill was finally getting somewhere with his writing. He’d told him about his book idea months ago, but that had been all, just talk. As much as Stan hated to fall asleep alone, he was just glad that Bill had finally found the inspiration to write it. Sure, he always said it wouldn’t go anywhere and he’d probably never finish it, but Stan wasn’t so sure about that. People usually loved his short stories, so why wouldn’t they love a novel?_

_He let Bill take over once the batter was ready, because he was better at flipping the pancakes and Stan didn’t settle for poorly made pancakes on a Sunday. “Do you want some coffee?”, he asked, already pouring another cup before Bill could answer._

_Bill smiled as he took the cup from him, brushing his fingers over Stan’s in the process. Stan bit his lip to keep himself from grinning, but seeing Bill in his pyjamas flipping pancakes in their kitchen, his red hair standing up in the back of his head, smiling that fond smile, was just too much. He was so in love with this man. Stepping closer again, he reached out to flatten Bill’s hair and press his lips to Bill’s cheek, only Bill turned his head and caught his lips with his own instead._

_When he pulled away, Bill winked. “I saw your s-sneak attack.” And then he grinned almost evilly. “And d-d-don’t think I didn’t hear you s-sing al-l-long to Carly Ruh-Rae Jepsen. Richie is going to l-love that.”_

_“Don’t you dare tell him that!”_

_“Or what?” Bill batted his eyelashes at him, looking rather smug._

_Stan sighed, put his own coffee cup on the counter and slipped his hands under Bill’s shirt, letting his fingers skid over the smooth skin. Bill squirmed, trying to get away, while also keeping an eye on the pancake and the hot pan._

_“Stan, st-stop!”, he gasped as he turned around, grabbing Stan’s wrists to try and stop him. “I’ll burn it!”_

_“You better not! Do you know how long I’ve waited for those pancakes?”_

_“A week?”_

_Stan pecked his lips, pulling his hands away from Bill’s sides. “Smartass.”_

“Not ff-… gun-… hungry?”

Ben’s voice pulls Stan back to reality and he finds all three of them looking at him. Pancake Sundays are a thing of the past. Bill is in the past. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he feels he is unable to eat the pancakes unless he wants to give everyone a good show of puking his guts out.

He pushes his plate towards Richie. “Let’s trade!”

Richie, who is usually so protective of his food, doesn’t complain as Stan grabs for his sandwich. There’s a look of understanding on his face as he starts cutting the pancake up.

“You love pancakes”, Mike states. “Especially after you relapse.”

“Not anymore.”

There’s an awkward silence as they eat, but Stan doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel like he needs to explain anything to Ben and Mike even if they are his friends. Can you even call them friends if he just forgets them every couple of days? How well can you really know someone in that time? Well, they might know him pretty well and that annoys Stan even more. They might know him better than he knows himself. Mike could probably give him the same rundown about all his problems like he just did with Ben, could tell him what he did yesterday and when was the last time he’s seen his parents. All because of what? Some asshole forgot how to drive and hit him with his car? Or he fell down some stairs?

“What happened?”, he asks, his tone much sharper than he intended.

“What do you mean?”, Richie asks.

“The accident! Why am I like this?”

“Oh.” Richie stops eating and that’s when Stan knows it’s bad, because Richie doesn’t stop eating just for anything. But how bad can it be? Mike just told him he got into a car accident because the other guy was drunk and it broke several of his bones. “Well… you got mugged. At least that’s what the police said, we never really found out. They found you badly beaten in an alley down by that shady club I liked so much. Hella’s Claw.”

Stan hates that club, because it’s dirty and there’s never any good music and all the drinks are watered down and there’s people in there that give him the creeps. Why would he go down there alone? He can’t think of a single reason for him to be in that neighbourhood. And if he got mugged, why wouldn’t he just give the guy his money and be done with it? He’d never try to fight a mugger. None of that makes sense.

“I know what you’re thinking”, Richie says. He’s fiddling with the fork, stabbing at his pancake over and over again. “It’s fucking bullshit! Never found the guy who did it either.” He takes a deep breath and puts the fork down. “Bev always says that being angry about it doesn’t change anything, but… I would feel a lot better if I could kick somebody’s ass.”

“You don’t know the first thing about fighting, Rich”, Stan says and he can’t help but smile. His mind is still trying to work out why he was in a place like that, but he sees how much it bothers Richie, probably has for the past years and it’s kind of sweet that he would go and fight someone for him. “You really want to live with me again so badly?”

Richie snorts. “I wouldn’t half-ass it like you. I’m going to fight that guy or die trying, you know.”

“Dying it is then.”

“Psh, how do you know I didn’t get super strong or something?”

“Because you’re still a beanstalk and you hate working out.”

It’s nice to know that at least his friendship with Richie is still the same. Although judging by Ben’s horrified look, they don’t usually talk like this to each other.

“Dude, he just relapsed”, Mike says. “Maybe tone it down.”

“Today is different. Today I don’t have to convince Stan that he likes me, today he knows I’m a fucking delight.”

Stan looks at Richie in mock surprise. “You mean to tell me, you don’t make gross jokes around me anymore? That you’re nice? I don’t believe it.”

“Only the first day”, Mike supplies helpfully. “It’s like a split persona going on.”

“Fuck off, Micycle.”

“Fuck!” The word rolls of Ben’s tongue easily and makes them all crack up. It doesn’t surprise Stan that Fuck is one of the words he can say without a problem, not if Richie really spends as much time here as he claims. Maybe they should put Richie in charge of Ben’s speech therapy, although the guy seems to be very sweet and Stan would hate having another Richie around. One is more than enough.  

 

After breakfast, he has an appointment with Dr Pine. Richie is there, but he’s uncharacteristically quiet, just sitting in the back of the room, doing something on his phone. Stan’s head is swimming with all the questions she is asking him. What is the last thing you remember before waking up this morning? How old are you? Who is Bill? Who is Richie? Do you remember anyone else? What are you studying? What are your parents doing? Do you remember any of the other inhabitants? Do you remember Maggie? Do you remember me?

In the end Dr Pine looks at him with a pleased expression. Apparently he has done something right.

“This is a first in your time here and I don’t want to give you false hope. This could be a step to recovery, but it could also just be a one-time thing. I want to send you to the hospital to get a scan and see if it shows anything new. Dr Fields is familiar with your case, we’ve been working closely together.”

He probably had a lot of scans in the past, but he is nervous now. What if she and Richie are right and the next relapse takes him back five years again? It’s weird to think there are two years of his life that he has no recollection of, but at least it’s not his complete time in New York. He remembers thinking that a relapse might not be so bad, but Stan doesn’t want to forget again. He wants to remember Richie, wants to remember Bev and most of all he wants to remember Bill. Maybe if his relapses can only make him forget the past two years there’s a chance, maybe then Richie will tell Bill and they can figure this out.

“Richie”, Dr Pine says. Again, the familiarity between everyone is weird. “Are you free to take Stan to the hospital or should I arrange transport?”

“Not a problem. You know I’d jump off a building if you’d ask, Noelle”, Richie says, winking at her. The nerve.

“Sorry about that”, Stan says. Apologizing for Richie’s behaviour is second nature by now.

She smiles at Stan. “Don’t worry about it. Richie is…” She pauses for a moment, thinking of a non-insulting adjective to add. “refreshing.”

Stan is about to roll his eyes at her, when he remembers she’s his doctor and he shouldn’t be rude to her. It’s bad enough that Richie is being an idiot. Why is he his contact again? Maybe Bev would’ve been more suited for this after all.

Richie leads him out to the parking lot and Stan’s heart jumps when he sees Richie’s old truck. He has complained so much about that thing, whenever it broke down or Stan got rust on his clothes after taking a trip in it, but today he loves it.

“It hasn’t completely given up yet?”

Richie pats the hood like a proud father. “Of course not. I can always count on Manny.” He sticks a cigarette between his lips and lights it, after a few moments he slowly blows out the smoke, leaning against the truck, looking more relaxed than he did all morning.  

“Manny? I thought you named it Betsy.”

“She felt like a change.”

He’s not going to have another discussion about how a car is an inanimate object and doesn’t have pronouns or names with Richie. They’ve done that too many times and it’s not like Stan thinks he’ll ever give in and listen to him, but sometimes he just really likes to disagree with Richie.

The interior is not as messy as Stan remembers, but maybe even Richie can grow up a little. There’s an old coffee cup and an empty paper bag on the passenger seat, which was probably Richie’s first breakfast. Stan grabs the trash and hands it to Richie without a word, and he takes it, muttering something under his breath and throws it into the garbage can in front of the building. They’ve done this a million times before too, Stan refusing to get into Richie’s dirty car until he had cleaned it up. That’s why Stan usually drove when they had to be somewhere on time although Richie would argue the whole ride how he was the better driver and Stan’s car had no personality, which it didn’t because it was a car and cars didn’t need personalities. He wonders how many times Richie has needed to talk him into getting in the truck in the past two years, or maybe he’s lost his patience and just shoved Stan in a couple of times.  

“Is this your life now?”, Stan asks, when Richie comes back and starts the truck. For once he doesn’t complain about smoking in the car. “You just come running when they call you?”

“Pretty much.”

As Richie pulls out of the parking lot and the buildings and cars start flying past them, Stan thinks that his condition is not just his. It affects everyone in his life and can he really blame people for deciding to get out of it under these circumstances? He definitely doesn’t blame Bill, honestly a small part of him is even glad, because the thought of continuously hurting Bill and not even caring because he’s nothing to him but a stranger… no he can’t bear that. But then there is Richie, who is probably too stubborn to cut his losses and get out.

He stares at the rusty spots on the ceiling and sighs. “I’m sorry.” Richie grunts. “I mean it, Rich. You can’t do this. You can’t let your life revolve around me, you don’t owe me anything.”

The smoke comes out of Richie’s mouth in small puffs as he starts cackling. Ashes fall from the tip of the cigarette as he slaps the steering wheel, then takes another drag just to crack up again. “Jeez, Stan, didn’t know you were so conceited.”

“I mean it! You shouldn’t just drop everything and come running just because I got a fucked up head.”

Richie rolls down the window and throws the rest of his cigarette out, then turns to look at Stan. “That’s bullshit!”, he says and he is still grinning, but Stan can see the anger boiling in his eyes. “The one day you actually remember who I am, you tell me that I should just go? Fuck you, Stan. And for your information, my life does not revolve around you, shithead. Yes, I come and explain everything to you every fucking time you relapse. Yes, I take you to your appointments and make sure you have everything you need. Yes, I call your parents – who are fucking schmucks by the way – at least once a month and tell them what’s going on with you. Yes, I have a fucking calendar now and it’s filled with your stuff more than mine, but you know what? I don’t care! I don’t care about all of that because I know you would do the same for me.” He repeats it in a lower voice. “You would.” And maybe that’s what breaks Stan’s heart the most, the doubt that maybe he’d been wrong this whole time and Stan wouldn’t do it. Honestly, he is not sure. It’s something he’s never thought about before and it’s easy to just say something when it’s a hypothetical scenario. He believes he would. As much as he fights with Richie and pretends he’s annoying, there’s little he wouldn’t do for him. But he isn’t sure he’d be strong enough, isn’t sure he could do it for years if Richie never remembered him and called him names not out of affection but actual dislike.

Richie clears his throat. “Anyway, I have a whole life of my own now. I have a job, I have a boyfriend and I even have a fucking cat.”

He doesn’t know what surprises him more. Not the job. Richie can hold a job once he finds something that interests him, it’s just that he gets bored easily and he won’t waste his time on a joby that bores him. Stan wonders what kind of job might be able to hold Richie’s interest. The boyfriend shouldn’t surprise him either, but the last thing he remembers about Richie’s love life is Richie almost desperately hitting on men and women in clubs with only mediocre success. Maybe it’s the cat, because they’ve had the old cats vs dogs discussion before and Richie has always been adamant about owning the biggest dog he could find at some point in his life.

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” When Richie looks at him now, he looks genuinely happy, all smiles and soft eyes. “He’s great. I was going to introduce you guys to him, but then you had your accident and well… But you usually like Eddie when you meet him. He’s easy to like.”

“Can I? Meet him, I mean. I want to meet him as long as I still know who you are.” He needs to know who this guy is that makes Richie so happy that he’ll consider getting a cat. He also needs to know what kind of person it takes to be with Richie for over two years and not kill him. Stan has lived with Richie and he knows that it’s an almost impossible task. There were many close calls.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“If I still remember by then”, he says, jokingly at first, but then he can feel his stomach turn at the idea. What if this is like those Alzheimer things, where you have rare lucid moments and then you go back to not remembering anything. He’s going to kick his own ass if he forgets Richie again.

“I expect a bit more positive thinking from you. You haven’t relapsed after just a day in over a year. You’ll see.”

Stan smiles and rests his head against the window. He wants this to be the last time Richie has to come and help him out. He wants to be okay, wants to start living again, wants to get his life back, but he wonders how often he’s had those thoughts before. He has five days at best, it’s never been more than five days and then his brain forgets all over again. Five days until he won’t know Mike and Ben anymore, until he won’t remember what happened to him or that there is anything wrong with him at all. Five days and he’ll forget Richie and shout at him when he comes to help, will call him names and forget about Richie’s boyfriend and his cat.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, not sure if Richie even hears it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing for Ben and Mike in this is super hard, especially Ben.


	4. The Heart Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan gets to know his new friends.

“What did the doctor say?”, Mike asks.

When Richie brought him back to the home and told him he had to go, Stan had to fight the urge to beg him not to. He is an adult and these are his friends now, Richie has a life of his own and it will be fine. The thought has been spinning in his head like a mantra. It will be fine, it will be fine, it will be fine. He wouldn’t say that is true so far, but it’s also not as bad as he thought it would be. Ben and Mike are taking him to get coffee, which is something Stan thought was impossible. They laughed at him when he asked them if they could just leave. _“It’s not a prison, Stan. They don’t keep us locked up.”_

They are walking slowly as Ben has a lot of trouble walking since his right leg just won’t cooperate with him. Mike has a bit of an unbalanced gait as well, but it probably doesn’t slow him down as much.

“Nothing really”, Stan answers and shrugs. That doctor, who was apparently so familiar with his case, was the most useless doctor he’s ever met.

_The scan showed nothing unusual. The Dr Fields showed him all his previous brain scans and he could see his recovery over the past years. The current scan looked good, not that Stan knew much about brain scans, but that’s what Dr Fields said._

_“What does that mean?”_

_“It means that there’s no reason, why you shouldn’t get better. However, as you can see, your last two scans show the same result and you still have relapses. This could be good and mean progress, I want to wait and see how this turns out.”_

_“And what if it’s not? What if I go back to five years ago after my next relapse?” He found it hard to believe that this could be a step forward after everyone has been telling him that his condition had not changed in the past two years. Well, there have been small improvements, this might just be one of them._

_“We’ll have to wait for your next relapse. There’s nothing else I can tell you.” He was not a fan of just sitting around and waiting to relapse or not relapse. Wasn’t there something he could do? Something that would increase his chances of recovery?_

 

“They have no idea what this means”, he continues. “Either it’s good or it’s not. Very helpful.”

Ben snorts. For a moment, he looks like he’s trying to say something, but then he doesn’t. Is it awful that Stan is grateful that is not him? It’s not like he is a big talker, but not being able to say what you want to say seems horrible.

They crossed through the small park behind the home and find themselves on a rather busy road. Stan still has no idea where they are, so he follows Mike when he turns right. He feels like Mike is in charge of their little group just because he can express himself freely and remembers everything. The thought is kind of funny. In any other group those qualities wouldn’t necessarily make you a leader, but this is his life now.

“No!” Ben grabs Stan’s arm and stops him, so he does the same to Mike. When he has their attention, he shakes his head and points in the opposite direction. “No. Th-th… the way.”

“It’s this way?”, Mike says. He peers down the road, then back the way he wanted to go. “Are you sure?”

Ben nods and starts leading the way. Stan follows hesitantly. Mike said, they do this all the time, that they have a café they always go to, so why doesn’t he know the way? They are going to get lost and then what? He doesn’t even have a phone anymore and he isn’t sure the others have one either. What do they do if something bad happens? What if he relapses or they get into an accident? What if Ben or Mike have some kind of episode? Stan doesn’t know if they have those, but it’s a possibility.

Everything around him is so loud; the chatter of the people walking by, the roar of the traffic, the echo of a million footsteps on the pavement. They should go back. Stan spins around, not really knowing where they came from anymore and then Mike’s gone. Hasn’t he been right behind him the whole time? He can still see the back of Ben’s head as he hobbles through the crowd. Where did all these people come from? It wasn’t this crowded a second ago, was it? Where is Mike?

“Mike!” He tries to shout, but it comes out as a croak and over all that noise, he doubts anyone’s heard him. He spins around again, but he only manages to make himself dizzy. The features of the people around him merge together like a big swirl of colour; he can’t make anything out anymore.

Another sound mixes with the continuous noise, like the rumbling of waves rolling to shore, and it starts to drown out everything else. He can see black at the edge of his vision that grows bigger, slowly moving in and swallowing everything.

When someone grabs his shoulder, he screams, but again there’s no sound coming from his mouth. Still unable to see clearly, he tries to get away from whoever this is, but the person only grabs his wrists and shakes him.

“Stan! Stan!” He blinks several times, clearing his vision and it’s Mike. The disappointment tastes bitter in the back of his throat. Of course, it would be Mike. Richie took off and Bill’s not around and he doesn’t even know what happened to Bev, but Stan is still disappointed to see just another stranger. “Breathe!”

He remembers this morning when the nurse told him the same thing and he tries to do the exaggerated breathing again just like she showed him. It helps with the black edges around his vision.

“What’s wrong, buddy? What happened?”

“I…” He takes another deep breath. “I thought we were lost.” At least that was what had set this off, he doesn’t want to elaborate on that and tell them more than that.

“No, we do this all the time”, Mike says, loosening his grip on Stan’s wrist and finally pulling away.

“We do?”, Stan asks, his tone sharp. “Seems hard to believe when you can’t even remember the way.”

Maybe they lied. Maybe they are trying to get him somewhere else. He doesn’t know why these two guys would want to hurt him or whatever, but he has trouble trusting them. Even if Richie does.

Next to Mike, Ben shakes his head. There are a few random sounds coming from him, but nothing that sounds like intelligible speech, so he shuts his mouth and stomps his foot.

“Ben knows the way”, Mike says. “I’m not good with directions.”

Stan frowns, feeling like there’s more to it than that, but Mike has already turned around and continued walking and Stan doesn’t think he can ask Ben. Is he being stupid for being suspicious of them? Maybe it’s just something with Mike’s brain, maybe he really is just bad with directions, but his mind is still making up all kinds of scenarios in which he gets murdered or kidnapped or eaten alive.

Ben quickly follows Mike as fast as he can with his leg and Stan does too, not wanting to get lost again. Maybe he doesn’t trust them, but it’s too late now. It’s not like he can just go off on his own and he doesn’t want to go back to the home yet, so following these two around is all that’s left.

The place that Mike has called “their place” turns out to be a small café called the Cracked Mug. It’s nestled in between a bookshop and a second-hand shop, there’s only room for one table out front, but Stan doesn’t want to sit on the sidewalk anyway. Inside it’s fairly busy, but not so much that they have trouble finding a seat. Ben and Mike steer towards a table by the window and Stan approves, because he has an overview of the whole place from here. None of the chairs, sofas and armchairs match, which makes it a little more homey, but it also irritates Stan, like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I’ll get us the usual”, Mike says and heads towards the counter.

Stan watches him until Ben taps his arm to draw his attention. He’s pulled a thick book out of the little bag, he’s been carrying around and flips through the pictures in it. It’s the first time Stan sees it. He only catches glimpses as Ben looks for the right thing, but the pictures are grouped into categories. There’s food, clothes, colours, weather, actions…

Ben slides the book over the table and points at a picture of a doctor. “Ma... Mike.”

“Mike is sick?”

“No.” He sighs and points at his left eye. “No see.”

“He’s blind on the left eye?” Stan remembers how Mike had only eaten the food on the right side of his plate at breakfast, but then Ben shakes his head. “Not blind?”

“No.”

“But he can’t see?”

“Can’t see”, Ben parrots and nods. He glances at Mike, who is still talking to the girl behind the counter and then flips through the book until he finds a picture that says ‘left’. “Mike… mm... mor-… morget.”

“Forget? He forgets?”

Ben smiles and motions to his left side. “Forgets.”

Stan knows Ben is trying to fill him in on Mike’s condition just like Mike had done earlier this morning, but he doesn’t really understand. He doesn’t know how someone can’t see although they aren’t blind or how you forget your left side. None of that seems important enough for him to be living in a home either.

“And the directions? Is that part of it too?”

“Yes and…” Ben points at his watch, probably indicating that Mike has trouble telling time too, but doesn’t get the time to explain further. When he sees Mike heading back towards them, he quickly shuts his communication aid and pulls it back towards himself. Stan doesn’t need to be told that Mike doesn’t want to talk about his difficulties and that they have to change the topic now.

The girl from the counter helps Mike carry his order, which is probably a good thing, because it’s way too much for one person and for some reason Mike only uses his right hand. Along with the three mugs of coffee, there’s a blueberry muffin, a large chocolate chip cookie, a slice of cheesecake and a slice of apple pie. Cheesecake for Ben, pie for Mike and the muffin for Stan, at least the muffin he still enjoys. Stan had feared it would be the same disaster like the pancakes this morning, but there are no memories tied to blueberry muffins; he doesn’t even think he’s eaten them much before his accident.

“Thanks.”

“Believe me now?”, Mike asks. “That we do this a lot?”

Stan takes a sip of his coffee and finds it to be just the way he likes it. Lots of milk but no sugar. “I guess so. Sorry about freaking out.”

“Don’t worry about it. We all have our bad days.”

Ben makes a weird gesture towards his head, while attacking his cake clumsily. He has trouble holding the fork in his right hand.

Mike nods. “Exactly. We all have screwy brains.” He starts breaking the cookie in three pieces so they can all have some. “Want to play ‘Who has it worst’?”

Ben groans. “No.”

“Is that a joke or do we really play that?”, Stan asks. It sounds like something Richie would do and maybe that’s the only reason why he isn’t completely put off by the idea. He doubts he’s liked that game much before his relapse today.

“I always lose.” Mike grins. “But then again, this is a game you’d want to lose.”

“And who wins? My brain that automatically reboots itself whenever it pleases or Ben’s that won’t let him form coherent speech?”

“You”, Ben says at the same time as Mike says: “It’s a draw.”

He’s just going to leave it at that. He really doesn’t feel up to arguing about how much it sucks to lose years of your life every 3-5 days and Mike is right, he doesn’t want to win this game. Instead he looks around the small café again.

“And we come here all the time?”, he asks. It’s nice, but not something Stan would call his favourite place. It’s probably just because it’s so close.

“It only opened a few months ago, but you love it here”, Mike says with a grin. Ben giggles. What is that supposed to mean? He’d thought that if anything he goes here because they like it. If it were up to Stan he’d pick a place that at least had matching furniture and didn’t play Jazz music. “Or maybe it’s just the owner that you love.”

He follows Mike gaze to a table right next to the counter. Nobody is sitting there, but somebody has created a mess. An open laptop, a large cup of coffee, an empty plate with crumbs, various loose papers, an assortment of pens.

“I doubt that”, Stan says and turns back to his muffin. He wouldn’t even remember that guy after the next relapse, so Mike and Ben are probably just teasing him. Maybe he should be thankful for his screwy brain, because at least he didn’t have to wake up to a new boyfriend. He’d rather not have a boyfriend than have someone that isn’t Bill.

“Window!”, Ben says excitedly. There isn’t anything out there though, confused Stan turns back to him and notices, they are both staring at the door behind the counter.

“Incoming”, Mike mutters and then smiles at Ben. “You mean door, not window.”

“Door.”

The rest of his muffin slips through Stan’s fingers when he sees him. He opens the door, smiling, says something to the waitress and takes a seat at the messy table. There are a few strands of soft, red hair sticking out from under his black beanie. The sleeves of his Henley shirt are pushed up to his elbows, showing off tanned arms. More tanned than Stan remembers. He looks different, but also doesn’t. He’s the same, just older. Two years shouldn’t make much of a difference, but it’s two years that Stan should remember, two years he should’ve spent by his side. Then he wouldn’t even notice these subtle changes.

Muffled laughter from Mike and Ben snaps him out of staring at Bill and he quickly looks away. “That… That’s the-the owner?”

“Sure is. But I must say that’s the best reaction you had yet. You always stare, and I mean, I guess he’s hot, but not drop-your-muffin-hot.”

For months he’s been coming here and staring at Bill? Does Richie know that? He’s pretty sure Richie would have a fit if he knew about it. And since when does Bill own a café? Where did he get that idea? Carefully he glances at Bill again, who’s typing on his laptop, but raises his head at the same time. Their eyes meet for a second, a second that makes Stan’s heart want to jump out of his chest.

 

_His eyes fluttered open, when he felt someone shift next to him. It’s only when he saw Bill lying there, still asleep, one arm draped over Stan’s chest, that he remembered. They’d fallen asleep on the sofa during movie night and when they’d woken up in the middle of the night, Stan had offered for Bill to sleep over. He’d insisted Bill sleep in his room, something he might not have had the courage to do if Bev and Richie had still been there, but those two must have slipped out of the apartment at some point._

_They hadn’t talked about anything, but Stan didn’t feel like they needed to. He thought he’d made it quite clear that he liked Bill during Breakfast Club last night, when they had argued who they were. Bill was the athlete, just because he was the only one who’d actually done sports during high school and Richie and Bev almost got into a fight because they both wanted to be the criminal, but Stan had said if Bill was the athlete then he’d be the basket case. Not because he thought he was one, he was probably a mix of the princess and the brain if it came to it, but Ally Sheedy’s character ended up kissing the athlete and he wouldn’t mind kissing Bill. The cuddling on the sofa had been Bill’s idea, later in bed it was Stan’s. It was all pretty innocent, if you thought about it, but since neither of them used to be so touchy with each other, it meant more. It had to._

_Still, he was a bit nervous as he laid there, waiting for Bill to wake up. They were such good friends, what if it didn’t work out? What if Bill broke his heart and they’d still have to hang out together? He didn’t think Richie and Bev would be happy if they ruined their little group._

_Before he could think too much about it, Bill rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. Light blue like the belly of a Mountain Bluebird. A smile tugged at his lips. “Morning.”_

_As Bill pulled his hand away from Stan, he grabbed it, holding it in the small space between them. Bill’s eyes flickered down to their hands and for a short moment Stan feared he would pull away, but then he only gave Stan’s fingers a squeeze._

_Stan glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed. “I think we might still have two or three hours before Richie gets up. He might’ve stayed with Bev, but I doubt we’re that lucky. So what do you want to do?”_

_“S-stay right here.”_

_Stan grinned. “That’ll get boring really fast. There’s like nothing to do.”_

_Bill scoffed. “I could th-th-think of s-s-suh-suh-someth-th-th…”_

_“Like what?” He rarely cut Bill off when he stuttered, always thought it was rude and impatient and Stan liked to listen to Bill speak, stutter and all. However, he just really wanted Bill to kiss him right now._

_Bill propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at Stan. “You’re a t-tease, Stan.”_

_“Then just kiss me already, idiot. Do you know how long I’ve wa-…” He was cut off by Bill’s lips on his. They were so much softer than he’d expected; the feeling sent a tingling sensation through his whole body and when Bill’s other hand came to rest on his neck, Stan couldn’t help but sigh into the kiss._

There’s a hint of a smile before Bill looks down at his laptop and Stan remembers that they are over, that Bill thinks he doesn’t know him anymore. His heart is still racing, but there is a cold, hard feeling spreading in his stomach. He doesn’t know what it means that he’s been coming here for months to see Bill. Or maybe Mike was just exaggerating, maybe he just comes here because he likes the coffee.

“Have I… uhm… have I ever talked to him?”

“If you mean, if you ever ordered something from him, then yes, but if you mean have you ever told him you think he’s hot shit, then no”, Mike says, still clearly amused by this.

“How are you?”, Ben asks. He seems to have noticed that Stan is acting weird, but maybe he can play it off. Telling them he knows Bill doesn’t seem like a good idea, they’d tell Richie and Richie would make him promise not to come here anymore or something worse and all Stan knows, is that he needs this. Maybe if he keeps seeing Bill, his stupid brain will remember him next time it relapses. Mostly he just wants to keep watching Bill, even if it’s across the room without ever speaking to him.

“I’m fine.” He forces a smile and picks at his muffin, which he has no intention of finishing now. He might actually throw up if he eats more and nobody needs to see that, especially not Bill. “He’s just… something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a bitch to write, but I'm happy it's finally done. Bev and Eddie are going to be in the next one and then we've fnally met all the Losers


	5. We're Your Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan meets Eddie and the group goes bowling

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night. All he can think about is Bill and his stupid café. Why would Bill let him come there all the time? Why wouldn’t he tell Richie and Richie would find a way to keep him away? Maybe Bill likes to see him. Maybe he hasn’t moved on completely like Richie said. Or he has moved on so well that it doesn’t bother him to see Stan all the time. He hates that he can’t just ask. Richie had a point when he said he couldn’t tell Bill and get his hopes up if Stan won’t remember him next time he relapses, so talking to Bill is out of the question. He can’t ask Richie because he’s at least 90% sure that he doesn’t know about this and will put a stop to it and he can’t ask Mike and Ben, because they don’t know anything. Damn his stupid faulty brain.

 

_He’d been twisting and turning in the bed for over an hour now and sleep just wouldn’t come. It didn’t help that he could hear Bill pace in the other room. He’d never thought they’d argue about Bill’s writing and maybe Stan shouldn’t have said that he spent too much time on it, but… it was like all he did these days. He went to his classes, came home and wrote, on top of that Bill still did tutoring and Stan was lucky if he got to see him in between for meals. He huffed as he stared at the ceiling. If Bill could tutor kids in English and Philosophy, then he could go that stupid thing Stan and Bev had signed him up for. He’d honestly just wanted to help. What was the purpose of all that writing if no one outside their group ever got to read it? No, Bill had no reason to be mad at him._

_The minutes ticked by, Bill was still rummaging around in the living room. Now and then Stan could hear him pull out the chair and continue writing, but then he’d stop and go back to pacing. He should just get over himself and come in here and apologize, at least then Stan still had – he grabbed his watch from the bedside table to check the time – five hours of sleep left._

_Groaning, Stan threw the covers off and made his way to the door. He hesitated for a moment, then stomped out into the living room. Bill looked surprised, but it only lasted for a second before he went back to scowling at him._

_“Come to bed”, Stan sighed, grabbed Bill’s hand and tried to pull him along, but his boyfriend wasn’t having it._

_“We’re f-f-f-f-…”_

_“Fighting! Yeah, I know”, Stan snapped. “But I can’t sleep and I have early classes tomorrow and you are not writing anything anyway.”_

_Bill followed him then, but unwillingly. He didn’t care how much Bill shuffled his feet and huffed, he was going to lie next to him and help him sleep no matter what. Only, when they were both in bed, lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling together, it didn’t help with the insomnia._

_“Now what?”, Bill asked into the darkness. “We just l-l-lie here and b-be mad?”_

_“What do you even have to be mad about?”_

_“Shut up! I’m not d-doing this again!”_

_Stan turned his back on him. Maybe this had been a bad idea. He’d been closer to sleep and less angry when Bill had been in the living room. “I’ll just stop helping you from now on. Got it!”_

_“Making me sp-p-p-peak in f-f-front of peop-p-ple is not help-p-p-ping!”_

_“You’re not speaking, you’re reading. More people should know your writing.”_

_“Why? Bec-c-cause it’s not v-v-valid unless I make m-money out of it? B-b-b-birdwatching is n-not valid either then!”_

_“No, because your writing is great! If you want to do it as a hobby, that’s fine, but you haven’t really treated it as a hobby lately, have you? It’s all you do!”_

_“Not true.”_

_“No? Then tell me why I went to the movies alone with Bev and Richie on Tuesday?” He turned around again, so he could see Bill. “Or why we had to cancel dinner with your family last weekend?”_

_Bill didn’t answer. His eyes had slowly gotten used to the darkness again and now he could see Bill chewing on his nails. Without thinking much about it he reached over and took Bill’s hand like he usually did when he noticed the nervous tick._

_“I th-thought you unders-s-stood.”_

_“That’s why I signed you up for the reading! The writing obviously means a lot to you, so I wanted to help you out, get you some recognition.”_

_“They won’t hear wh-what I have t-to say. They’ll j-j-just hear my st-st-st-stutter.”_

_Stan sighed. “That’s what all this is about?” He gave Bill’s hand a squeeze. “You have enough time to practise, you can go at your own speed and even if you stutter, so what? It’s not like people won’t understand you.”_

_The fact that Bill didn’t pull away from him, was probably a good sign. It was hard to stay mad at him, when the whole argument boiled down to Bill feeling insecure, something that rarely happened. Stan rolled onto his stomach and slowly reached out to caress Bill’s cheek with his free hand. If he wanted to keep fighting, Stan would pull away, but he was kind of over the whole thing now._

_“Listen, your stutter doesn’t matter. You have a way of making people listen to you and they’ll be too interested in your story to care if you get stuck or not.”_

_Bill’s hand came up to rest on Stan’s. “You think so?”_

_“Of course I do!”_

_He wrapped his arms around Stan’s chest and pulled him towards him, eliciting a surprised giggle from him. He rested his head on Bill’s shoulder as he snuggled up to him, closing his eyes. He was ready to sleep now._

_“I’m sorry”, Bill mumbled, carding his fingers through Stan’s curls_

_“Me too.”_

 

All he wants to do the next day is go back to that café and see Bill, but Richie promised to visit him, so he just has to wait around. Alone. Ben has speech therapy and Mike got into a car right after breakfast without telling him where he was going. Ben seems to know, but Stan couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say.

He’s not allowed to go out alone, but he can sit on a bench in front of the building with his binoculars and distract himself by watching the birds in the parking lot and the park. Not that he can really focus on that, when all he can think of is Bill. Bill. Bill. Bill. He can’t help but wonder what he was writing yesterday, another short story or a novel? Had he ever finished that novel he’d been talking so much about? Maybe he even published it. He’d have to have gotten the money for the café from somewhere.

He’s too distracted by his own thoughts, that he only notices Richie’s truck when he’s already parked it and Bev jumps out from the backseat. She skips over to him and Stan has a moment to take her all in. Her hair is longer than he remembers, reaching down to her shoulders and there’s a tattoo of a fox on her right arm that’s new, but otherwise she’s still the same. He feels guilty now for thinking she might not actually visit him anymore, when Richie told him she wasn’t able to be his contact. He barely gets to stand up before she barrels into him and risks them both falling, but he manages to steady himself and wraps his arms around her.

“Hi Bev”, he says. She takes a deep breath and steps back, cupping his face in her hands. Her smile is brilliant, but her eyes swim in tears and Stan hopes she doesn’t, because if she cries he will too and he can’t do that again. There were too many tears yesterday. And he doesn’t want to meet Richie’s boyfriend with puffy eyes.

Bev kisses his cheeks and his forehead before dropping her hands. “I missed you.”

He doesn’t know how to answer that so he just smiles. Saying that he missed her too would be a lie, he still thinks he’s only seen her a few days ago, and he doesn’t want to lie, not more than he has to.

“You look good.”

She twirls in her dress. “I made this myself.” Bev has always been very interested in fashion, she’s probably gone through ten different style phases since Stan’s known her, but the sewing is new to him. Like, she would improve some of her store-bought clothes, but never do anything from scratch. It looks great.

Before he can tell her so, he’s interrupted by someone shouting. “I swear to god, Richie!” Stan steps to the side so he can look past Beverly and sees Richie drape an arm around a shorter brown-haired man, who’s mouth is running a mile a minute, but he’s dropped his voice again.

“Richie said he told you they’re married”, Bev says, an amused smile on her face. “Eddie has been shouting at him for being a horrible friend and how wrong it is to prank you for the whole car ride. He also said something about adoption, but I had already tuned out at that point. He didn’t, right?”

Stan snorts. “No, he said something about a cat though.”

The pair is still bickering as they reach them, well mostly Eddie is cursing under his breath while Richie seems to be mostly oblivious to it, a large grin on his face.

“You must be Eddie”, Stan says, holding his hand out to the new addition. “Richie told me all about you yesterday.” He flushes pink as he shakes Stan’s hand, but Stan can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or anger. Stan turns their hands over, inspecting Eddie’s fingers, then cocks an eyebrow. “No ring? I know you’re cheap, Richie, but this is a new low even for you.”

Eddie shakes his head so much, Stan thinks he might get a concussion from it. “No, no! We’re not married. It’s just one of Richie’s stupid jokes. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what he was thinking, lying to you is not funny and I’m just… I’m sorry.”

Bev is the first one to crack, trying to hide her giggles by pressing her face into Stan’s shoulder, but it doesn’t matter since Richie barks out a laugh almost at the same time, hooks an arm around Eddie’s neck and pulls him closer so he can kiss his temple. “Eds, he’s just fucking with you. You’re so cute when you get worked up. Cute! Cute! Cute!” He underlines every cute with a kiss to his cheek, but Eddie struggles to get free, making him miss most of them. Richie eventually lets him go and pats Stan’s shoulder. “Knew I could count on you.”

Eddie crosses his arms and scowls at Richie. “That’s not fucking funny!”

Stan smiles at him. “I’m sorry. It’s always nice when Richie pranks someone that’s not me.”

“I miss that. Now that you’re all there again, I should get back to that”, Richie says and Stan regrets opening his mouth at all. Richie’s pranks are the worst. When they still lived together, Richie would come up with something new almost every week. Freeze all their cutlery, replace all the pages of Stan’s textbooks with shitty erotica novels, fill Stan’s room with cups of water, get a spare key and park Stan’s car in different spots every night, switch the soap with lube. Stan was more than relieved when he moved in with Bill and had gotten a little harder to prank.

“You know, you’re lucky this is not the first time I’m meeting you”, Eddie tells him. “Otherwise this would’ve been a pretty shitty first impression.” He smiles though, so Stan hopes he doesn’t take it too badly. He also wonders how often he has met Eddie and how those times went. Maybe he’d rather not know, although he doesn’t think any first impression could be worse than the one Richie made on him and he still moved in with him.

 

_Stan glanced down at the address on his phone and then at the apartment building in front of him. This was it alright. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe living in the dorms wasn’t so bad, maybe it didn’t matter that his roommate snored and left his dirty clothes lying all over the floor or that all he ate was takeout and left the empty containers lying around the room. Maybe all of that was manageable and he didn’t have to go into this old, rundown building and get murdered by his potential new roommate._

_He thought about it for a moment, but the idea of living with that sorry excuse for a functional human being any longer made him go in after all. Honestly, he’d rather die than keep living like that. The hallway was dark and there were mysterious stains on the stairs, but Stan figured he could live with that. If he couldn’t see the dirt, it wouldn’t be so bad. It was just a hallway after all._

_He climbed the stairs to the sixth floor and was greeted with loud rock music blaring from one of the apartments. With his luck that would be the one, he was looking for, wouldn’t it? It was. Again, he asked himself if it was worth it. Loud roommate over gross roommate? Well, he could always get earplugs… or go deaf. That was a valid option._

_When he knocked, he wondered how on earth the guy would hear him over the music and while he waited, he came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t. He knocked a few more times without success. It looked like he was going to be stuck with Gross Steve a little longer. He was about to leave, when the door opened and a tall girl with short, platinum blond hair almost ran into him. She stopped to check him out, pulling at her shirt that didn’t really cover her bra, but then walked past him before Stan could point it out to her. Maybe it was intentional. Curiously he peeked inside the apartment. It was kind of messy, but not in the gross way like his dorm. There was a big collection of CDs and vinyls spread out on the floor, a few dog-eared books in a heap next to the sofa, papers, receipts and what looked like concert tickets strewn on the coffee table, various musical instruments. Stan saw at least three guitars, one was missing some strings though, a dusty keyboard against the right wall, maracas and a cowbell by the TV and a horn. But the guy getting up from the sofa did not look like he knew how to play the horn._

_He was tall and pale and freckly, which Stan could see almost immediately because he was only wearing a pair of boxers and an open, very ugly Hawaiian shirt. Oh and of course the diving mask and snorkel he had pushed onto his head. Maybe that guy wasn’t going to kill Stan, he’d more likely kill himself on accident. Gross Steve over weird, stoner roommate? Maybe._

_“I’m Stan”, he said, when the guy just blinked at him. “I’m here because of your ad?”_

_“Ad?”_

_“You’re looking for a roommate?”_

_“Oh!” His lips stretched into a wide grin. “Come on in, Stan. Stan the Man. Stanny.”_

_Stan rolled his eyes, but decided not to comment on that. He’d look at the room and then make a run for it. This wouldn’t be the only guy in New York looking for a roommate, right?_

_“I’m Richie.” He went over to the stereo and turned the music down a little. “Your room is the one on the left.” Richie picked at the ashtray on the table until he found a cigarette that was still salvageable. No, not a cigarette. Stan watched him light the joint and take a drag. “Do you smoke?”_

_“No.”_

_Richie shrugged. “More for me. I like this arrangement already.”_

A sane man would maybe not have moved in with Richie, but Stan had been desperate. Richie was bizarre and loud and obnoxious, but Stan could deal with that. He could not deal with Gross Steve. Plus, the room had been pretty great and Richie let him move in the next day, so no, not a sane decision, but a damn good one.

“Alright, let’s break you out of here”, Richie says, heading for the doors.

Beverly links her arm with Stan’s as they follow him. “We’re taking you bowling.”

“Should we ask Ben and Mike to come along?”, Richie says over his shoulder.

“They are busy. Speech therapy and whatever Mike has going on.”

Richie nods. “Right, it’s Thursday.”

“So?”

They sign Stan out at the front desk, Richie promising to bring him back before dinner, which makes Stan feel like they’re taking him out on a date. He is a grown man with a curfew, how pathetic can it get? He also can’t leave here on his own, so a grown man with a curfew who needs a babysitter for everything. He hates his life.

It’s only when they’re all in Richie’s truck, that Richie finally tells him about Mike. “Every Thursday his friend comes and takes him out. They usually do some nerdy shit like geocaching or something.”

“It’s a modern treasure hunt”, Bev says. “It’s cool.”

Richie waves her off. “Point is, Mike has no sense of directions whatsoever and his friend hopes this’ll help him. I think Mike has fun, but it does nothing to improve his condition.”

Okay, so Mike would get lost all the time if he were on his own, but that doesn’t seem to be so bad. He meets Richie’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and notices the pull on his lips. It’s not really a smile.

“What’s wrong with Mike anyway? Ben tried to explain a bit, but I didn’t understand much.”

“Well… it’s not really my place to say, but since Mike isn’t really able to, I might as well. He has that left-sided neglect, meaning he sometimes forgets the left side of his body exists. It’s gotten a lot better since they started that buzzer treatment.” Buzzer treatment? Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen Mike use his left arm at all, mostly noticeable when he let the waitress carry most of the stuff in the café yesterday or only ate with one hand instead of using fork and knife simultaneously.

“It’s not just his body either. You should never let him read you a story unless you’re interested in only hearing half of it. There are tricks to help him with that, like yesterday when I turned his plate, but… uh… All of that he could manage on his own if he knew about it. I mean, obviously he knows, but he can’t really understand how these things are a problem. Lack of insight or something they call it.”

Now Stan is glad that he didn’t ask Mike about his condition. He doesn’t know how he would react to it, but he has a feeling it might not be good, seeing how quickly Ben dropped the topic in the café, when Mike came back. Maybe Mike feels like him, like he doesn’t belong in the home because he feels fine. Sure, Stan knows why he is there and on some level he understands that it’s the best place for someone with his condition, but he doesn’t think it’s the best place for _him._ Although he knows a relapse is coming either tomorrow or the day after or maybe even a few days down the line, he can’t really accept it as real. He doesn’t feel like anything is wrong with him. It’s like the Stan Richie keeps talking about and the Stan sitting here in the back of his truck are two completely different people.

It’s almost as if he got dumped in another reality if there’s such a thing. He feels like the old Stan, but has to live in the skin of the new one and he hates the new Stan. He still has his friends, but he doesn’t like the way they look at him now. He has new friends who have major problems of their own and yet Stan still feels like he needs them more than the other way around. He is sick or disabled or whatever you want to call it and he hates absolutely everything about it. But the one thing he hates most is that Bill is gone and new Stan doesn’t care, but he woke up as old Stan and old Stan still loves him. Loves him so much.

He wants to ask them about the café, if they knew Bill owned the Cracked Mug, but he stops himself. Of course they know. He wants to know why Bill bought it, wants to know what happened to Bill’s writing, wants to know about his travels with Georgie. Where did they go? Bill always talked about all the places he wanted to see and there were so many, Stan felt overwhelmed just listening to him, but he also knew he’d follow Bill there if he asked him too. Stan was never all that excited about Rome or that one Greek island that Bill had seen in a documentary on tv and would not shut up about for days. He didn’t understand why Bill wanted to go to Alaska and freeze his toes off or sweat like a pig while riding camels through the desert. He didn’t get it, but Stan was on board and Bill had done it all without him. All those memories they were supposed to make together now don’t include Stan. Nothing in Bill’s life includes him anymore. He is just the guy in the café that stares at him and Bill pretends not to know.

He can feel the tears burn behind his eyes, closing them quickly, hoping his friends didn’t see. His fingers curl into fists, digging his nails into his palms as he tries to distract himself from the new realisation. No, maybe Bill didn’t give up on him willingly, but he seems to be fine with it now. Maybe even if Stan never relapses again, Bill still won’t want him back in his life. It doesn’t really matter. He’s on day two; he’ll only have to think about this for one maybe three more days. And then what? Either he forgets it all, or he gets to relive all of this, gets to lose Bill over and over again. Fun times.

When they pull into the parking lot of the bowling alley, Stan feels a little more in control. He won’t burst into tears, he just feels numb. Bev holds out her hand to help him climb out of the truck and he takes it. “Are you okay?”, she whispers, so the others won’t hear.

He tries a smile and finds he’s surprisingly good at faking one. “Just tired. My brain wouldn’t shut up last night.”

“It’s a lot to take in.” He’s not sure she believes him, but it doesn’t matter if she does or not as long as she gets off his case. “Not too tired to kick some ass though, I hope.”

“I’m never too tired to kick Richie’s ass. I could do it in my sleep.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They rent some bowling shoes, well Richie, Stan and Beverly do, Eddie has his own pair. Smart move. “Do you go bowling a lot?”, Stan asks him as he ties the stinky, ugly shoes.

“No, but I’m not risking getting athlete’s foot. You might as well walk bare feet in a communal shower if you’re going to wear those”, Eddie says and Stan stops his movement. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of putting on the rented shoes to begin with.

Richie laughs and claps Eddie on the back, making the shorter man jump. “Isn’t he just the cutest? Always worrying about germs and stuff. It’s like listening to conspiracy theories.”

“Germs and fungus are real, Richie.”

Richie picks up one of his shoes and peers into it. “Can’t see any fungi, Eddie, but it does smell like your mom’s underwear. Maybe I should get a different pair.”

“Don’t put it so close to your face, asshole!”

“Why? Is the evil funguns going to jump at me and eat my skin?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at him. “Hopefully!” He moves over to where Beverly is picking out the perfect bowling ball.

Stan continues to tie his shoes, momentarily forgetting about Eddie’s warnings. “Are you sure he’s your boyfriend and you’re not just holding him captive?”

Richie grins. “He’s adorable, isn’t he? I’m still teaching him how to flirt but I think he’s getting the hang of it.”

“I don’t think you’d recognize it if someone would flirt with you in a normal, healthy way.”

“What like staring longingly at someone from across the room and never do anything? Thanks, I’m good.”

“As if you’ve ever stared at something longingly that wasn’t food.”

“Want me to make heart eyes at you right now? ‘Cause I can, but you’ll have to deal with Eddie when he gets jealous.”

Stan snorts, but his amusement turns into disgust, when Richie actually follows through, resting his chin on his fist, batting his eyelashes at him and smiling a very unsettling smile. It’s a nice expression on Richie’s face, one Stan’s never seen on him before, but it also makes Stan’s skin crawl a little. It’s not Richie.

He pushes Richie’s face away. “Stop that!”

And just like that Richie is back to normal. He chuckles as he reaches up and ties his hair into a bun, making Stan stare again. First of all, he looks fucking ridiculous, second of all, where did he magically get that hair tie and third of all, he looks _ridiculous_.

“What?”, he asks, but catches on quickly, turning his head from side to side to really give Stan a view of his stupid hairdo. “It’s called a man bun, Stan. It’s hot shit.”

“Then why are you wearing it? You’re neither a man nor hot shit.”

“Eddie loves it”, Richie says loudly, turning to him and Bev. “Right, Eds? You love my man bun.”

Eddie’s cheeks turn slightly pink as he carries his bowling ball over to them. “Well, I don’t hate it.”

“I do”, Stan says, but it only makes Richie laugh.

He goes to pick out his own ball and thinks about their relationship. He knows Richie loves Eddir, but that’s just because he knows Richie and his weird way of showing affection by annoying the shit out of you. He has yet to see that Eddie loves him, but figures if he’s stuck around for this long, he must. Well, at least someone is happy in this alternate universe.

“Fuck no!”, Eddie shouts, drawing Stan’s attention back to them, and the attention of everyone around them. “You’re not putting Eds on there. You know I hate that name.”

Richie is busy typing in their names on the console, but Eddie is pushing him out of the way, quickly erasing the letters.

“What about Eddie Spaghetti? It’s cute!”

“No!”

“Eddiebear?”

“Get away from the fucking machine, Tozier!”

After a lot of back and forth nobody is happy with the names, but they are here to actually play and not spend hours bickering over stupid names. Sometimes Stan catches people look at their scoreboard with confusion, probably trying to figure out who Spaghettward, Dickard, Stone and Bovinely are. Stan still doesn’t understand how Richie got away with calling Bev a cow without repercussions.

Eddie is the worst out of all of them, but he keeps blaming his size for it. _“You all have freakishly long arms, it’s practically cheating!”_ Richie would probably do better if he wasn’t so determined to strike a new pose after every roll. So far Stan’s favourite was the victory chicken dance because Richie slipped and fell on his ass. However, Richie is still pretty good and it annoys Stan, because he can’t lose against Richie when he’s just fucking around. That’s just not happening.

Bev was really good to start with, but then she actually started to care about winning the game and everything went downhill from there. Currently she’s angrily tossing her bowling ball across the lane, missing all but one pin.

Stan sits next to Eddie waiting for their turn, when Eddie pulls out his phone and starts recording Richie as he makes a big show of preparing for his next roll. It’s then that Stan notices it, but he doesn’t say anything until Eddie puts the phone down.

“You actually do like him”, he says.

“Yeah”, Eddie snorts. “Sometimes. When he’s annoying someone that isn’t me.”

Stan nods. “He can be a bit much.”

“He’s funny.” Eddie shrugs. “And it’s not like he’s like that all the time. When we’re alone, he doesn’t need to put on a show, but I like him both loud and quiet.”

Quiet Richie is a treat, especially after a long day of jokes and stupid voices and badly performed songs – for someone who can play so many instruments, Richie has a surprisingly bad singing voice. Stan completely understands what Eddie means and he’s just glad that Richie has found someone that makes him calm down and breathe.

“He told me what you said yesterday”, Eddie continues, voice low. “It really got to him. I don’t want you to feel bad or anything, because it’s not your fault, but please don’t tell him to go away or that you want to relapse again or something like that. I know you might think it’s better for him if he does, but believe me it isn’t. Being your contact and taking care of you… it keeps him sane.”

He’s not sure what Eddie means by that, but he’s too afraid to ask. He already feels bad enough about being such a burden on Richie – even if he says he’s not – he doesn’t want to know how Richie deals with it. He remembers the anger when they talked about Stan’s accident and Stan has an idea what Eddie might mean by ‘it keeps him sane’.

“I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to relapse again.” The urge to ask about Bill is there again, but Eddie is Richie’s boyfriend, so not really a safe option. He’s sure Eddie knows him, but he wonders how well. When Stan asked Richie about him, it didn’t sound like they were still as close as Stan remembers.  

“Good. You don’t know how happy he was when you recognized him.”

He does know. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about new Stan, but the one thing he knows is that Richie is his best friend. Maybe that’s true in every universe.

“Stonely, you’re up!”, Bev shouts. For once she’s actually smiling and a quick glance at the scoreboard explains why; she got all ten.

 

_He was completely lost, well, if you could get lost in your own home. He’d lived with Richie for three days when he’d decided to throw a party. To welcome Stan, but mostly just because he wanted a party. Since Stan didn’t really have friends in New York and he definitely wasn’t going to invite Gross Steve, the place was filled with Richie’s friends or just people Richie knew or maybe even just strangers who walked by and crashed the party. Stan was glad he’d locked his room, he just wished he’d locked himself inside too. Parties were only ever fun if you had someone to hang out with and Richie was busy entertaining everyone but Stan. That was fine! He didn’t need his new roommate to hold his hand, okay? He didn’t even want Richie around, because that guy was so annoying. Only, part of him was already growing to like Richie. He liked how excited Richie got, when Stan got home and Richie could tell him all about that crazy philosophy professor of his that was absolutely incapable of teaching but who Richie loved so much he took all of his classes. He liked listening to Richie play his guitar, but only if he didn’t sing while doing it. He didn’t like the nicknames and the mess and how touchy Richie was, but he had hope of improving Richie._

_“Are you lost?” A girl with short red hair, more freckles than Richie and a pleasant smile stood in front of him._

_“What?”_

_“You don’t look like you’re having fun”, she explained and leaned against the wall next to him. “Are you sure you’re at the right party?”_

_Stan snorted. “I think so, yes. It’s happening in my living room.”_

_The girl laughed too. “Oh shit! You’re Richie’s new roommate!” Stan didn’t like the way she studied him now, looking him up and down. “Are you sure you’re up for that?”_

_No, not at all, but he wasn’t going to admit to a stranger. And Richie wasn’t that bad. At least he wasn’t Gross Steve. “It’s not that bad”, he said defensively._

_“Well, yeah, I know that, but not everyone sees it like that. I’m glad you like him though. When he told me about the party, he was so excited for you to meet everyone.”_

_The smile was on his face before he could do anything about it. “He was?”_

_She nodded. “Sure! He said, and I’m quoting, ‘Stan the Man is the best roommate. He does all my dishes’. By the way, you shouldn’t do that. He’ll crash and burn when he has to live on his own someday.”_

_“I did that once because I was doing my dishes anyway. I’ve lived here for three days and the guy has already proposed hiring a maid twice.”_

_“You’re going to be the one paying for one, so think hard about that”, she said and held out her hand to him. “I’m Beverly, but you can call me Bev.”_

_He shook it. “Nice to meet you. So you’re friends with Richie?”_

_“We bum cigarettes off each other, he recommends music to me, I give him fashion advice that he never takes, but mostly we sit together on campus and share the newest gossip. I guess, we’re friends, yes.” She pushed herself off the wall. “Want in?”_

_“I don’t smoke and know nothing about music and fashion.”_

_“Can you talk shit about people?”_

_“I guess.” He could if it was Gross Steve or that annoying girl in his economics class who’d ask the professor the same questions in a thousand different variations just to sound smart._

_Bev took his hand and dragged him into the middle of the room, where people were dancing, led by Richie performing a weird choreography on the table while playing the horn. Stan wasn’t sure if he didn’t know how to play or if the horn was supposed to sound that bad. He’d never been much of a dancer, but Bev kept a strong grip on his hand, making it impossible to get away. She gave him a few pointers, but just kept laughing at his failed attempts._

_“Just do what you want, pretend nobody is watching!”, she shouted over the music as she jumped around and still managed to look somewhat cool doing it._

_“But everybody_ is _watching!”_

_“Who gives a shit?”_

He doesn’t care about people watching anymore. If he did, he’d died of embarrassment multiple times today alone and Bev was right, who cares what strangers think. What matters is what his friends think and they think he’s a smug asshole for winning the game and pointing it out the rest of the day. He only does it because it pisses Richie off so bad. _“You can’t show me up in front of my man, Stan. You’re the worst wingman!”_ – _“I’m your boyfriend of two years, asshole, and I kicked your ass at Ludo the other day.” – “Ludo? How old are you? 70?” – “Respect your elders, Bev!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Losers are officially in this, just don't know how much Eddie and Bev will be in it from now on.


	6. Day Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly just flashbacks, a filler chapter if you will.

Mike’s teasing has become relentless, but Stan mostly drowns it out anyway. He knows what he’s doing isn’t helping anyone, least of all himself. It’s day six after his relapse and he’s still him. He’s never gone more than five days without relapsing, so naturally everyone is kind of waiting for something to happen. Ben thought they should celebrate it, which Stan only agreed to, because it gives him an excuse to drag them to the Cracked Mug. Day six is not something to celebrate. The more days pass, the more anxious he gets. Every night before he goes to sleep, he puts a picture of his friends on the bedside table, hoping he’ll still know who they are when he wakes up. He has a journal that he carries around with him everywhere, where he takes notes about everything. He has two more that he’s already filled with every single information that he could remember about his life in New York. He will forget, he knows he will, but at least he has notes this time.

“Not here”, Ben says. Stan, who’s been drumming his pen against a blank page of his journal looks up. “The… uhh… the o-o… man!”

Stan glances at the table Bill usually sits at, today it’s empty. He’s been here for six days and it’s not the first time Bill isn’t here, but of course he’s disappointed. Bill is the only reason he comes here. Mike and Ben know it, so Stan has stopped pretending it isn’t. There’s no harm in them thinking he just has a dumb crush.

“We’re here to celebrate, aren’t we?”, Stan says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “Not to ogle hot guys.”

“I thought for your celebration, you could go and talk to him for once”, Mike says.

Suddenly he’s glad Bill is not here. Mike is not patient. If he won’t bully Stan into talking to Bill today, he’ll definitely do it next time, and Stan needs time to prepare for that. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t ever talk to Bill. Not until he’s sure he won’t forget him again at least. But can he ever be sure of that? What if he’s never sure? Will he just continue to stare at Bill from a distance?

 

_He knew he was staring, but thought it safe. Richie and Bill had joined some guys in a volleyball game, they were too invested in it to notice him staring. Stan had always thought Bill was handsome, but that was before he had seen him in nothing but swim trunks. Hot might be a better word to describe Bill. Shit!_

_Bill ran across the sand and jumped to reach the ball, Stan had never been this fascinated by muscles working under tanned skin. Bill scored the point and one of the guys on his team clapped him on the back, even let his hand linger on Bill’s shoulder and Stan was faced with the sudden impulse to shove the guy away. He’d touched Bill plenty of times, they were friends, but they were usually separated by layers of clothing, now he couldn’t stop thinking about running his hands over Bill’s chest, the slight curve of his bicep, the soft skin of his belly._

_“Your gay is showing.”_

_He almost jumped. He’d thought Bev had fallen asleep while sunbathing, but now she rolled onto her stomach and scooted closer so their shoulders were touching. Heat rushed to his cheeks._

_“Who are we staring at anyway? The Patriot, the Flamingo or Knockoff Jason Momoa?”_

_Honestly, he hadn’t paid much attention to the other guys, they were alright. Well, the guy Bev called Knockoff Jason Momoa was probably more than alright, but Stan only noticed that now, which was not a good sign. Shit!_

_“I’m just watching the game”, he said, although he knew it was a lame excuse. “I like seeing Richie lose.”_

_“So you were making heart eyes at Richie?” She looked at him sceptically and shook her head. “Never a good idea to fall for your roommate.”_

_“What? No! No, no, no, no, no! I do not like Richie. Not like that!” The idea was ridiculous. As much as the guy had grown on him since he moved in, dating him would result in homicide. Richie would drive him up the wall and although Stan wasn’t a very jealous person, Richie would definitely test him, that guy flirted with every breathing thing. Stan would nag Richie too much, try to change him even and they’d end up hating each other._

_“You seem awfully defensive about that though.”_

_“Bev”, he sighed. “I do not have a crush on Richie, trust me.”_

_“Alright.” She glanced at the men playing once more, then turned back to him with a wide grin. “By concept of elimination that only leaves Bill.”_

_“Your powers of deduction are unprecedented.”_

_“You could call me Sherlock Holmes.”_

_“I would if you didn’t accuse me of having a crush on Richie two seconds ago.”_

_“Fair.”_

_He could have denied it, especially since he just realized himself that he liked Bill. Well, he knew he had a teeny tiny crush on him, but had been positive that would go away. After today he wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Letting Bev know didn’t seem so bad though. Richie would literally not shut up about it, if he knew and he obviously couldn’t tell Bill, at least Bev would keep his secret._

He clicks his pen and scribbles a little note at the top of his page that Bev was the first to know about his feelings for Bill. He doesn’t think it means anything now, and yet he can’t stop writing these little things down. If he forgets her again, there’s at least this sentence in his own writing that tells him he trusted her with that information.

He turns the page over to re-read some of his previous notes, his eyes linger on the one from last night and he smiles.

 

_“You have to dress up”, Mike said, pushed Stan out of the way and sat down on the sofa in his room. “It’s dance night.”_

_Ben smiled happily, hobbled over to Stan’s full-length mirror and checked himself out. He wore a nice white shirt and a red bowtie, Mike had even put on a navy-blue blazer._

_“Why? We’re just going down to the rec room.”_

_“It’s the rules of dance night. Now go and change into something nice.”_

_Stan rolled his eyes and walked to his closet. Dance night was once a month and was apparently Mike’s favourite activity in the home. When Richie had explained it to him, he’d also complained for almost an hour that he couldn’t come, because he had to have dinner with Eddie’s mother._ “That woman hates me anyway. He’d better appreciate all the sacrifices I make for love.”

_After staring blankly at his wardrobe for a minute, Ben took pity on him and picked a light-blue dress shirt and black jeans out for him. “Nice. You… You g… fff… before. Nice.” Stan took that to mean he’d worn it to dance night before. Since it didn’t look like Ben and Mike would leave, he went into the bathroom to change in privacy. Ben had been right, it did look nice, although Stan felt like he was overdressed. It was literally just the same people he already saw every day._

_“Let’s go!”, Mike said as soon as Stan emerged from the bathroom and hurried towards the door. Someone was impatient._

_He fell into step with Ben. “Mike loves…” He waited for Ben to finish his sentence, but after a few seconds it was obvious Ben was unable to. Sometimes he’d pick the wrong word, but sometimes he’d just get stuck either unable to find the right word or he knew the word and couldn’t figure out how to say it._

_“Music?”_

_Ben nodded._

_He found out how true that statement was as soon as they entered the rec room. They had pushed all the tables, armchairs and sofas to the sides to make room for a dance floor, where some of the other inhabitants were already swaying to the music, someone in a wheelchair was going in circles at a speed that didn’t seem very safe, but none of the nurses or doctors had stopped him yet. As soon as Mike had stepped foot through the doors, he headed to Maggie – even the staff had dressed up and Maggie was wearing a very pretty purple dress – took her hand and led her to the dance floor._

_“This reminds me of awkward school dances”, Stan said._

_“Always”, Ben said. “You… uh… always.”_

_“I always hate this?”_

_Ben shook his head and touched his lips. “Always… s-s-squeak” He shook his head again, not the word he wanted to say._

_“Speak? I always say that?”_

_“Yes!”_

_“I get why Richie wanted to come so badly then.”_

_Ben laughed, probably thinking of all the times Richie had been here for dance night. Part of him wished he could recall it too, but he didn’t really need to. He could imagine the show Richie would put on, meaning all of these people had probably also seen Richie pull him onto the dancefloor and force him to dance._

_Tonight it was Ben who did the pulling and as much as Stan didn’t want to dance in a dimly lit rec room to awful 90s pop music with dozens of strangers watching, he couldn’t say no to Ben. There was something about that sweet smile and the begging blue eyes, that just got to him._

_Mike whooped at them as they joined him and Maggie. Stan could dance, but he was used to either dancing with a partner or just goofing around with Bev and Richie, neither was an option right now. Ben had trouble moving to the rhythm, which was understandable with his bad leg and Stan didn’t mind that he was holding onto his arm most of the time to keep himself from falling over. It didn’t really matter what he looked like on the dancefloor, apart from Mike no one seemed to be a very good dancer around here._

It was more fun than Stan would admit. Part of him can’t wait for dance night next month and he wonders if he’s going to call it a school dance again or if Mike has to remind him to dress nicely for it. Maybe he’ll remember that himself this time. He’s on day six after all. Well, maybe thinking this will last for another month is a bit too optimistic.

“If Handsome Red isn’t coming, we can leave, right? Not waste an entire day in this place”, Mike says.

“Got anything better to do?”

“I don’t understand why Ben and I have to stalk that guy if we’re not even getting a kiss out of it, is all I’m saying.”

“Can’t.” Ben takes a deep breath and Stan can almost see the little gears working in his head as he tries to find the right word. “Alone.”

“I know he can’t go out alone”, Mike says, rolling his eyes. “We should do something else for a change.”

Stan doesn’t want to go. He went to sleep last night thinking he’d forget all about Bill when he wakes up, but he hasn’t and now he has that same fear. He just wants to see him one more time while he still knows who he is, but Bill might not come in at all and he can see how annoyed Mike is. He could maybe convince him if he told him who Bill is and what he means to him, but he still thinks they’d tell on him.

“What else do we do then?”, he says.

“Book place!”

Mike smiles. “We go to the library. If you’re going to be with us longer now without relapsing we might actually get to start up a book club.”

Stan hums in agreement, but thinks that’s going to be an interesting book club if Mike only reads half of the pages and Ben can’t articulate his views. He knows that’s mean, so he doesn’t say it, but he feels like his crappy memory is definitely not the only reason they don’t have a book club.

“Alright, let me just use the restroom first and then we can go”, he says as he gets up.

The library, he thinks, as he opens the door to the men’s room, happy to be alone in there, he can’t remember the last time he set foot in a library. Probably for some school work. He remembers that one week when Bill practically lived in the library because he had this group project for his classic literature class. That was before they’d gotten together and Richie had not stopped making fun of Stan for bringing Bill lunch every day and picking him up to drive him home. He hadn’t minded that, he’d just been worried he was too obvious and Bill might notice.

 

_Stan sat outside the library and watched the sunset, the sky was a beautiful orange. Richie had made some stupid comment about Stan being a good wife and how he expected the same treatment once exams came around as Stan had left the apartment to go and pick up Bill. Even if he wanted to do the same for Richie, it wouldn’t even be possible. That idiot’s idea of studying was three minutes of reading and the rest of the time he’d make up some weird game or take a nap on his books, claiming he’d absorb the knowledge that way. What annoyed Stan the most was that it actually seemed to work. It wasn’t fair that normal people had to work hard for their good grades while Richie got his so effortlessly._

_He turned to the entrance, when he heard the door opening and watched Bill and his study group leave. Bill noticed him almost immediately, a smile lighting up his tired face that made Stan’s heart flutter._

_“See you tomorrow!” Bill waved at the group and walked over to where Stan was sitting on the low stone wall. “You don’t have to p-p-pick me up every day.”_

_“No”, Stan agreed. “But now you don’t have to ride the sub. Unless you want to of course.”_

_“Tough ch-ch-choice. I th-think I’ll pick you.”_

_Although Stan was aware that Bill was talking about the car ride, the word choice still made him insanely happy. Maybe someday Bill would pick him and it would mean exactly what he wanted it to. As much as he had hoped his crush on Bill would go away, it had only gotten stronger. Maybe he should listen to Bev and Richie and just do something about it already, but the thought was terrifying. So much could go wrong, and for now he preferred to live in this in between state where Bill might not feel the same way, but at least he hadn’t rejected him either._

_“Is the project coming along then?”, he asked as they made their way towards Stan’s car._

_“I guess. Can’t wait f-f-for it to be d-done though. Get out of the luh-library and spend more time with you g-guys.”_

_“Sounds like a good plan. Bev wants to play Cards Against Humanity again. I will not survive that without you there.” That was a blatant lie, because Stan secretly loved that game, he was quite good at it too. He just really missed hanging out with Bill. That was the only reason he’s been picking him up every night for the past three days. Well that, and he also wanted Bill to be safe, but he didn’t think riding the subway at 7pm was all that dangerous._

_Bill opened the car door, but stopped before getting in, looking at Stan over the roof of the car. “This is nice too, though. When it’s j-j-j-j-just uh-us.”_

_Stan could’ve sworn he saw him blush, but Bill quickly ducked his head and got in and when Stan took his seat Bill seemed unaffected. Maybe it was just something he wanted to see. “Suh-sometimes it’s n-n-nice to hear yourself th-th-th-th-think.”_

_Stan snorted and started the car. “Yes? What kind of amazing thoughts does my presence bring you, Denbrough?”_

_“Not important.” Bill just smiled at him as if he knew that Stan was dying to hear all about it. He was probably right though, it wasn’t like Bill was going to confess his love for him right then and there. That was too bad, because he wouldn’t mind to just keep driving tonight. It didn’t really matter where to, just that Bill was here right next to him._

_“Cool, we’re keeping secrets now, I see how it is”, Stan said, feigning hurt._

_“S-some things are meant f-f-for the imagination.”_

_“You don’t want to do that. Whatever my brain comes up with is definitely not going to be what you were thinking.” Unless Bill was thinking of kissing him, but he doubted it._

_“T-try me!”_

_Stan looked over to see genuine curiosity on Bill’s face. The setting sun was shining through the window, making Bill’s hair look like it was on fire and Stan was almost tempted to give in, but then it also filled him with a strange satisfaction to leave Bill wondering._

_“Nah.”_

He should write that down.

The lock clicks and he stares at the toilet for a good moment. What…? “Write it down”, he mumbles, repeating the last clear thought in his head and wonders what he should write down. And where? On the bathroom stall? There’s hardly any graffiti in here, weirdly clean for a subway bathroom. Wait no… he’d never use one of those. He doesn’t remember going in here. He doesn’t even know where he is.

His fingers are shaking as he unlocks the door and steps out of the stall again. He thinks he remembers this restroom, vaguely, but maybe that’s only his brain telling him he does. The last thing he recalls is sitting in the subway wondering if he should buy pretzels on his way home. This isn’t a restroom in a subway station though, it’s too clean and Stan would never even step foot in one of those. He can hear music and the chatter of a group of people outside the door. Where is he? How did he get in here? Why can’t he remember? What is going on? He should go out there. Maybe they decided to go to a restaurant instead, Bill, Richie and Bev are probably out there and can fill him in. Richie will make some joke about Stan losing his mind and it will all be fine. However, Stan’s legs won’t work as if his body knows it’s going to be even worse if he goes out there. He stands in the middle of the restroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He’s wearing different clothes and he wonders if this is even still the same day. Did somebody roofie him? He pats his pockets, looking for his phone to call Bill, but his pockets are empty. No keys, no phone, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Stan relapsed... we'll see how well he takes it next chapter.


	7. Waking Up To A Nightmare 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan relapses and it goes very very wrong when Bill tries to help.

His hands grab the sink so hard his knuckles turn white as he leans over it to inspect his face in the mirror. He tilts his head to get a better view of the scar almost hidden in his hairline, runs a finger over his nose where it had been broken. He’s never broken his nose. He’d remember it if he had. But his nose is slightly crooked now and Stan rakes his brain to pull up a memory of this happening. He comes up blank. All he remembers is the dirty floor in the subway, the annoying lady speaking loudly into her phone and that’s it.

The door to the restroom swings open and makes Stan jump. He glances at the tall, black man walking in and then pretends he’s washing his hands. He’ll have to go leave the restroom now if he doesn’t want to be the weirdo who hangs out in here.

Instead of going into a stall the man walks over to Stan. “We thought you’d fallen in”, he says with a lopsided smile. “Handsome Red showed up, but we’re still leaving. Ben is so excited about the library.”

What is this? Who is that guy and who is he talking about? Maybe he mistook Stan for someone else? Maybe he did get roofied and kidnapped and this guy did it. His eyes flicker to the door, if he’s fast he can get away from this man, but then what? Stan doesn’t know where is and that guy looks more than capable to catch him.

“Stan?”

He tries to back away, but only ends up with his back against the tiled wall. Shit! If it comes to a fight, he’s done.

“Stan, do you not know who I am?” No, he fucking doesn’t and the fact that he should just makes it worse. His chest rises and falls with every rapid breath he takes and he can feel tears prickling behind his eyes. He can’t start to cry now, whatever he does, he’s not going to cry.

“Shit”, the guy mumbles and backs away from Stan. “I’m Mike, I’m your friend.”

Stan shakes his head. He doesn’t know him, so he’s not his friend and him saying that he is, is just another red flag. His hands curl into fist, not because he thinks he can take Mike on, but he won’t go down without a fight that’s for sure.

“You relapsed again”, Mike says as if that’s supposed to mean anything. He doesn’t do drugs so how the hell would he be relapsing?

“You got the wrong guy”, Stan manages to say, but hates how high-pitched his voice is. Not very threatening.

“No, I don’t.”

When Mike moves to get closer to him again, Stan brings up his fists. He can’t remember if he’s ever been in a fight, probably not since middle school, but he thinks if he gets the first hit in, he might have the advantage. “Get the fuck away from me!”

Mike brings his right hand up in what is either a ruse to slap him across the face or a weird surrendering gesture. “I won’t hurt you. I’m your friend.”

The door opens again to a short, fat man hobbling inside. Stan wants to ask for help, but the words get stuck in his throat, when the man is followed by Bill. He’s different. The hair longer, slight scruff on his chin and cheeks, fine lines around his eyes, it’s as if Stan hasn’t seen him in some time, but that isn’t true. He saw him just this morning before he went to class. It doesn’t matter though. If Bill is here everything is fine, right? If Bill is here, he’s at least not in danger. Stan drops his fists and moves to Bill, careful not to get to close to Mike or the other stranger.

“Thank God you’re here”, he breathes and grabs Bill’s arm, not caring how clammy his hands are. “That guy is freaking me out. Said something about drugs and being friends and… I think there’s something wrong with him.”

Bill looks at him as if he’s seen a ghost. His blue eyes wide and confused, his mouth slightly open and if it weren’t that cute, Stan would tell him to cut the bullshit. Seconds tick by and Bill still doesn’t react and maybe Stan was wrong and nothing is fine after all. What the hell is going on?

The two strangers stare at him equally surprised, so that short guy knows him too? Nothing makes sense anymore.

“He relapsed”, Mike says.

The short guy raises his left hand to his face and pretends to call someone, which is weird. Maybe this is a dream? He just fell asleep on the subway and this is all some weird dream that he’ll wake up from any minute now.

“Right! We need to use your phone”, Mike says to Bill and then turns back to the other man. “Ben, do you still have the number of the home?”

His grip on Bill’s arm tightens, why is he just playing along with all of this? It’s not funny. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t do drugs! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Finally, Bill reacts, but it’s not in the way Stan had hoped for. He gently pries Stan’s fingers off his arm, nods at Mike and goes to open the door. What the fuck? Whatever is going on, Stan is not going to let his boyfriend leave him alone with obviously crazy strangers in a bathroom. He’s not going to re-enact Saw just because Bill is mad at him for something. For what? As far as Stan can remember, they didn’t have a fight.

So before Bill can leave, Stan grabs his arm again. “Bill! What are you doing? Don’t leave me alone with them!”

“Stan”, the other guy says, Ben, he presumes.

“What are _you_ doing?”, Mike says.

Stan ignores them, because who cares what they think, they are crazy anyway. He looks at Bill and his anger only grows, when he sees the same shock and confusion on his face as a moment ago. What the hell does he have to be so confused about? He’s not the one with strangers talking to him, saying he has a drug problem and what not.

“You… know me?” Bill’s voice is so low, Stan barely catches it over everything else that is going on at the moment.

“What the fuck, Bill? This is not funny and you’re freaking me out!”

For some reason Bill looks at Mike and Ben for… for what? Confirmation that Stan in fact knows him? He’s very close to completely losing it and he doesn’t want to make a scene, but if he doesn’t get an explanation to where he is, what is going on and why Bill is being a fucking asshole, he won’t be able to hold back.

Bill takes a deep breath and slowly that weird expression vanishes, but it’s replaced by his thinking face, the one Stan hates because he knows Bill is thinking big thoughts that he won’t share. “L-l-let’s call Ruh-Richie”, he says and leaves so Stan has no other option but to follow him, still holding on to his arm.

“What? Why?” He thinks Richie is the last person he wants here right now. If anyone can make this mess even worse it’s Richie with his jokes and incapability to take anything seriously. He doesn’t need Richie, he just needs Bill to fucking talk to him.

Outside of the restroom is worse, because Stan realizes he is in a café that he’s never seen before. How did he get here? Why is Bill just casually going through someone else’s messenger bag that sits behind the counter and why is nobody stopping him? Why are the two bathroom guys still here? Stan decides there’s too many people here for him to break down and his head is already hurting like someone took a sledge hammer to it, so he shuts down. His hand is still curled around Bill’s bicep, scared that if he lets go, Bill is going to disappear, but otherwise he just stands there, staring at his shoes and listens to Bill talking on the phone.

“You have t-t-t-to c-c-come he-here nah-now!”, he barks as soon as the person on the other line picks up, Richie probably. “M-my place! Yes, now. It’s ab-b-b-b-b-b-… ugh. It’s ab-b-b-b-BOUT S-s-stan!”

Although Stan doesn’t look up he can picture how red Bill’s face must be now, he also must be really angry if his stutter is getting this bad. What the hell is he so angry about?

“Just c-come here as f-f-fast as you c-c-c-can.” He hangs up and turns back to Mike and Ben. “G-g-g-g-give me the n-n-number, I’ll c-call the home.”

There’s a bit of silence as they leave, Stan secretly hopes they won’t come back, but when they do, he figures they’d only gone to grab something. Keeping his head down, he glances up to see Ben placing a book with laminated pages on the counter, turning two pages and pointing at something.

He doesn’t hear Bill’s next conversation, because Mike is talking to him again. “Stan, are you still there?” He doesn’t react to that, he figures he doesn’t owe them anything if they won’t explain themselves to him.

“Why didn’t you say you knew Handsome Red?” At this point Stan feels like Mike is just stringing random words together that combined lose all their meaning. He must be crazy or maybe – and this makes Stan go cold all the way to his toes – maybe he’s the crazy one. He doesn’t think he is, but everything is just wrong and Stan can’t explain it and even worse nobody else seems to think it’s wrong.

“You sh-sh-sh-should go back”, Bill says. “I’ll t-take c-c-c-care of him.”

“No!”, Ben says.

“We can’t do that.”

“It’s f-f-fine. Richie w-will be here s-s-s-s-soon.”

The arguing goes on, but Stan can’t focus on it. He thinks it’s funny how Richie is somehow the key in this weird nightmare scenario. What can Richie do to make sense of all of this? The other patrons in the café are staring at them now, Stan can feel their eyes on him even though he’s still looking at his feet. What is wrong with him? Why are these people arguing with Bill about him? What is this home they’d been talking about? The pain in his head pulses with every beat of his heart, like there’s too much blood circulating through his brain. Maybe he’ll pop an aneurysm or something. Perhaps then they’ll see how fucked up everything is.

When Bill touches his hand, Stan tightens his grip, not wanting him to pull away again. “It’s ok-kay”, he mutters. “I’ll just t-ta-ta-take you upst-st-airs.”

Bill gives him a tight-lipped smile as he grabs his bag and leads Stan towards the door, where he can just see Mike and Ben leaving. He doesn’t like the worried expression on their faces as they go. He and Bill walk around the building to another entrance, climb the stairs and then Bill unlocks the door to a very spacious apartment. Why does he have the key to this place? His place? He remembers Bill telling Richie to meet them at his place, but this is not their apartment. He’s never been in here.

“Bill, what is going on? I don’t understand.”

“Sit down.”

They are already standing in the living room and Stan knows this is Bill’s place, because he notices the pictures on the walls. Some of them he knows, they already hung in their shared apartment, others are new. There’s one of him and Georgie, who Stan doesn’t recognize immediately since the boy is almost taller than Bill in it.

He opens his mouth to ask Bill again, but shuts it, when Bill pushes him towards the sofa and makes him sit down. They sit in silence for a moment, that drags on way too long for Stan to not become angry again. How long has it been now since he lost his mind in that restroom? Surely by now someone should’ve felt the need to explain, especially Bill, but he’s only staring at him as if he can’t believe Stan is sitting next to him.

“What…”

“You w-w-were in an accident”, Bill says, cutting him off from asking again. “T-t-two y-years ago.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“You don’t remember. It’s c-called amnesia. You’re unable to form l-l-l-lasting new mem-m-mories. Th-hat’s what y-your friend meant by re-l-l-lapse. You forget all new information after a couple of d-days.”

Stan frowns at him. He wanted an explanation not some weird story of lies. And that Mike guy is not his friend, he’s never seen him before and he doesn’t have crazy friends. Other than Richie.

His initial response is to deny it, but there is a small voice in his head, that tells him Bill wouldn’t lie to him, not about something like this. He traces the scar on his head that he noticed earlier in the mirror and there’s the picture of Georgie so much taller than he remembers, the lines on Bill’s face that weren’t there before, this new apartment, Mike and Ben.

“No”, he says, slowly shaking his head. “No, no, that’s bullshit. That’s…” Bill wouldn’t lie and what he says makes sense, at least somewhat, but he doesn’t want to believe it. If he were in an accident, he’d remember it, right? He’d at least remember being in a dangerous situation or something. Maybe the subway crashed, but if it did, Stan thinks, he might have gotten more to show for it than just a scar and a broken nose.

Bill rubs his face and looks away. “It’s okay, Stan. You’re… you’re d-doing fine. When Richie comes, he’ll b-b-be able to exp-p-plain better.”

“Why Richie?” It makes no sense. Shouldn’t Bill be the expert if the accident really happened?

He gets up, unable to sit still when his mind is working at high-speed. Bill reaches out as if to pull him back down, but then stops himself. Stan doesn’t know what he’s looking for as he wanders through the room, it’s only when he doesn’t find it, that he realizes he’s searching for his stuff. There’s pictures of Bev, Richie and Bill’s family and some people Stan doesn’t know at all, but he isn’t in any of them. There’s no trace of him anywhere. None of his books in the shelves, not his favourite fluffy blanket thrown over the couch, no binoculars for birdwatching anywhere. He doesn’t recognize any of the furniture either. This is not their place, this is Bill’s place.

“Richie usuall-l-ly does this. He… uh… He has the pract-t-tice.”

Stan knows he’s lying, he doesn’t even need to look at Bill to know that. There’s something he’s not telling him and if his head wasn’t killing him right now, maybe Stan would be patient and try to figure it out on his own. He crosses his arms as he turns around to face him. “Just tell me what’s going on, Bill.”

He doesn’t at first, avoiding Stan’s eyes, fiddling with the seam of his jeans and it makes Stan want to shout at him. Is his anger also caused by that stupid accident or is that just due to people around him being useless?

“It’s…” Bill’s voice cracks and he pauses for a moment. “It’s the first t-time you remember me.”

Stan deflates a little at that. That can’t be true. He remembers everything about Bill, his scent, the taste of his lips, the freckles on his cheeks in summer, his love for boring jazz music and cosy flannels. It would take more than a bump on the head to make him forget Bill, even if he got his memory completely wiped, he’s sure he’d still remember Bill.

“That’s not possible.” The words come out louder and harsher than he intended and he almost regrets saying it, when Bill looks at him with an expression of devastation. Almost. How can Bill say something like that though? Does he really think Stan cares so little about him that he’d just forget him? “So what? I forget you but not Richie and Bev? That makes absolutely no sense.”

“You forg-g-g-g-g-g…. don’t remember them either.”

“Bullshit!” He remembers them. All three of them. What is Bill trying to do? Maybe he was in an accident, maybe he does have holes in his memory, but… No! Richie, Bev and Bill are the most important people in his life right now, why would he forget them? Is this just Bill trying to come up with an excuse why he broke up with him? And why would Stan not remember their breakup? Maybe he got in the accident right after the breakup, maybe they had a huge fight… Maybe he should’ve gone with those other guys, what were their names again? Mike and Bob?

Stan has partly accepted that the accident probably happened and maybe his brain just decided that everything involving that was too traumatic to handle, so it erased not just the accident but Bill leaving him as well.  

He starts to pace now, ignoring the way Bill seems to crumble in on himself. “What the fuck is this shit, Bill? I clearly don’t live here, according to you, I don’t know who you are and yet you conveniently are around when I reload… relapse, whatever. Are you just saying this, because it’ll explain why you broke up with me? I don’t remember that, but it must have happened. Was it before or after that accident? What, I wake up and don’t know who you are and you just use that to get the fuck out of this? Too much baggage, too much to handle. Or was it before and you dodged a bullet?”

Bill doesn’t answer him, which Stan counts as a confession of guilt. He doesn’t know which version is true, but it doesn’t matter. Both are bad enough to tear his heart to pieces. Did he really mean that little to Bill? Things got rough and he was just out of there, dumping Stan and his problems off onto Richie? The pain only makes his anger flare up, his fingers itch with the need to throw something. Not at Bill, of course not, but he just needs to break something. He’s unaware that he already is.

“I didn’t”, Bill whispers. Of course he did, he packed all his stuff and moved away because he couldn’t be near Stan when he was sick, apparently. He spins around to yell at him some more, but is stopped, when he sees Bill brush tears off his cheeks. He’s never been good at seeing Bill cry, well, he’s not good with people crying in general, but feels extra helpless when it’s Bill. And this time it’s his fault too. For a brief moment, he wants to go over there and apologize, but the desire is gone just as quick as it came. Bill can’t handle the truth now? Must’ve been convenient when Stan didn’t remember him and he didn’t have to think about the shit he pulled because nobody was confronting him about it. Maybe he did forget Bill as a defence mechanism or something, because his brain knew he couldn’t handle this. Why he should be able to handle it now, he doesn’t know. He feels like his life is coming down around him and he can’t do anything to save it, because he’s too late. The fight is already over and he’s just standing in the ruins of it.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He points to the pictures. “I mean, I’m not in your life anymore, am I?”

He knows he’s hurting Bill and he just can’t stop. He just wants Bill to feel as bad as he does right now. Why was he even in that café, when he doesn’t care about him anymore? Why did he need to bring him up here? To rub it in his face that Stan was not part of his life anymore? It hurts to know that he wasn’t important enough, that he didn’t mean as much to him as he does to Stan. For fucks sake, he’s thought he’d be by Bill’s side for the rest of his life, that he had found the one…

“Why did you even bring me here? Make sure I get the message? Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you any longer than I have to.”

He feels himself tear up and turns away, not wanting to give Bill the satisfaction of making him cry. He breathes deeply, preparing himself to speak again without his voice giving him away. “If I have to wait for Richie, can I do it somewhere else?”

Without speaking, Bill points to a door and Stan flees the room. Not only is he crying now, but no matter how angry he is, he still can’t stand to see Bill crying, who is not even trying to hide it at this point. As soon as the door closes behind him, Stan leans against it, eyes closed, trying to even his breathing. If this is his life now, he hates it and he’ll happily go back in time and die in the accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit all over the place, but I edited it multiple times and I think this is as good as it gets. Plus Stan got a little bit meaner with every rewrite and I wanted to strangle him^^


	8. Not Nothing But So Much Less Than Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan hears the truth about the "breakup"

The minutes tick by as Stan sits at Bill’s kitchen bar, tracing the texture of the wood while waiting for Richie to arrive. Part of him can’t wait to get out of here, while he also doesn’t want to leave, knowing it’ll probably be the last time he’ll be here or see Bill. As soon as he leaves the apartment that’s it, they’ll be officially over. The thought is enough for him to tear up again and Stan presses his palms to his eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. It’s even worse when he realizes they already are officially over and have been for a while, it’s just him that hasn’t caught up yet.

There’s a muffled knock and the sound of a door opening.

“Where is he? Is he freaki-… Holy shit! What happened?” Richie’s voice drifts into the kitchen clear as day, Bill is not as easy to hear at first so Stan misses the beginning of his sentence. He should probably go out there and let Richie do his thing, but he doesn’t move. His legs feel so heavy, he doubts he’d be able to get up at all. He doesn’t want them to see he’s been crying either.

“… with him. Why the fuck d-d-didn’t you t-tell me he remembers? You sh-sh-should’ve c-called me!”

“He still does? It was the first time last week.”

“A whole week! He l-l-l-lasts a week now and he rem-m-members and you didn’t t-t-t-t-t-… say anything?”

“I didn’t know he’d still remember after the next relapse.”

“Fuck you, Richie! You p-p-promised to keep me upd-d-d-d-dated. What else d-didn’t you t-t-t-t-TELL me.”

“I would’ve fucking told you! I just needed to be sure that it would stick, okay? I didn’t want things to end up like before.”

Are they aware he can hear them fighting over him like divorced parents? And what does Richie mean by “before”? Part of him wants to just drown it out; he doesn’t have the energy for more fighting, but it’s not like he can just ignore it when they’re talking about him, right?

“Th-Th-thanks!” Stan thinks he’s never heard Bill be more sarcastic. “He c-c-completely freaked out. It’s d-definitely up there in my T-top Five Worst Rel-l-l-l-lapses.”

“Why were you with him anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter!”

“Yes, it does! You said you’d stay away.”

“Bec-c-c-c-cause you w-w-wanted me to! Now I have t-to ask your p-p-p-permission if I want to see my b-boyfriend?”

Did he just…? Stan is out of his seat and pressed against the door in a heartbeat, he can’t miss another word of that conversation. Bill just referred to him as his boyfriend, which is very confusing considering he’s moved out and away from him. And why would Richie want that? The Richie he remembers had always been more than supportive about their relationship, practically pushing him into Bill’s arms at some points.

“He’s not your boyfriend, hasn’t been for the last two years and I’m sorry that I don’t get your little masochistic trait and won’t let you throw your life away!”

“It’s my l-l-l-life! Why do you fucking c-c-care what I d-d-d-do with it?”

“Seriously? I’m sorry, go ahead and fall back into that pit. You were doing amazing! Not going to school, not seeing your family or friends or anyone except for Stan, and no money. You didn’t do anything for yourself, everything was about him. Fuck that, it wasn’t good, okay?”

“I should’ve b-b-been there.”

“You are here right now, aren’t you? He was probably never going to get better and you would’ve killed yourself just to stay by his side. I don’t care if you hate me, but putting him in that home and giving you your life back, was the best fucking thing I’ve ever done.”

“It wasn’t your decision to m-m-make.”

Stan’s heard enough. Maybe he should be mad at Richie just like he’d been angry with Bill before, but he can’t, not after listening to all of that. All he cares about right now is how Bill had never left him even though Stan hadn’t recognized him in two years and he would’ve gone on if it hadn’t been for Richie. Fuck, he’d been so awful to him. Just thinking about Bill crying on the sofa while he shouted at him, makes his stomach turn and for a moment he thinks he’s going to be physically sick.

Before the argument can continue, Stan steps into the living room. Richie is still standing by the door, not having had the chance to fully enter before he and Bill had started fighting, but when he sees Stan, he steps around Bill and crosses the room in long strides.

“Are you okay? Did Bill explain to you what happened?”

“Kind of”, he says, only briefly looking at Richie before turning his attention back to Bill, who’s not meeting his eye. Understandable.

“Accident two years ago. Brain relapses every couple of days. Usually you forget the three years prior too, this is only the second time you remember me and Bill. You live in a home, because you can’t live on your own”, Richie rattles off and Stan just nods along. That’s basically what Bill already told him just that he actually believes it this time. Richie looks from Stan and back to Bill. “Can either of you tell me what happened now? Were you with Mike and Ben?”

“I sent them b-back to the home”, Bill says. He lingers by the front door for a while before he goes back to sit on the couch. Although he keeps his head turned away from Stan, he caught a glimpse of his red, puffy eyes. Fuck. “C-c-c-called the home too.”

“Are they okay?” Richie puts a hand on his shoulder and it’s weird. Richie takes care of him now? He’d always liked to think it was the other way around. What’s even weirder is that everyone seems to just accept Richie in this role, so he might even be good at it? “You didn’t get into a fight with them, did you?”

“Almost”, Stan whispers. He had been very close to hitting Mike in that restroom and feels even worse now that he knows they weren’t crazy, just concerned friends. “But then Bill got there.”

“Where?”

“Café downstairs.”

Richie’s brows knit together as he awkwardly past Stan’s shoulder, then he turns around and stops in front of Bill. “So he just coincidentally walked into your café?”

His café? What the hell was Bill doing with a café? What happened to becoming a teacher, or writer if that worked out? He’d never once mentioned that he’d like to own a café one day. He didn’t even make particularly good coffee.

“Fuck off, Richie!” There’s no heat behind Bill’s words, he just seems kind of tired right now.

“It’s not the first time, is it?”

Bill doesn’t answer that, but he doesn’t have to. Stan isn’t sure what that means, just that he’s apparently been around Bill without knowing him and Richie is mad about it, because he didn’t want them to be together for some reason. Well, because it had almost destroyed Bill when he’d tried to take care of him before, at least that’s what he got from the argument.

Richie sits down on the coffee table, his knees bumping into Bill’s as he reaches out and grabs him by the elbows. “That’s something you should’ve told me”, he says, his voice soft. “How long has that been going on?”

When he answers his voice is so low, Stan can’t hear it from where he’s still standing by the kitchen door. They are talking about him as if he’s not really here and oddly enough it doesn’t bother him, probably because he doesn’t feel like that person, like there’s him and then there’s the Stan they are talking about, a person he doesn’t know.

“Yeah, you can bet your ass I would’ve.” Richie snorts. “Look at the mess it got us in.”

When he hears Bill sniffling, Stan slowly backs into the kitchen and retakes his seat on the barstool. He folds his arms and rests his head on them, trying to drown out the quiet noises from the living room by concentrating on his thundering headache. The crying hadn’t done much to improve it. He tries to remember what he said to Bill before Richie arrived, but it’s not that easy. He only knows it was bad and that he thought Bill had abandoned him. There’s still a small part of him that believes that, because if it were the other way around, Stan would never let Richie bully him into leaving Bill. Who the fuck was Richie anyway to decide what was best for other people? He didn’t even know what was best for himself. What the hell happened to his life?

He doesn’t know if he dozed off or just forgot his surroundings while his thoughts spun around all the things that he thought he knew about himself that probably aren’t true anymore. He’s not a student, he’s not a boyfriend, he’s not a very good friend in general, he’s not in control, he doesn’t have a plan, he doesn’t know who he is.

Someone shakes him lightly and when Stan sits up and brushes the hair out of his face, Richie is sitting next to him. The door is closed and Stan wonders if Bill has left them or if he’s still somewhere in the apartment.

“I’m sorry about… everything I guess. Relapses in public are always a bit difficult, and…” He is chewing on his lower lip. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think you’d be. Bill told me. About what you said to him.”

Stan looks down to where his fingers are tracing the texture of the wood again. He doesn’t want to look at Richie and see the disappointment there, doesn’t want to know how bad he fucked up. “I know it’s not true”, he whispers. “I heard you guys before.”

“If you need to be mad at someone, be mad at me. Don’t take it out on him.” Richie sighs, takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and starts tapping one of them against the surface, turns it over, taps it again. Turn, tap, turn, tap, turn, tap. “I know he’s angry right now, but I stand by it. I did the right thing.”

“Did you?”

Richie nods. “Because this is what happens. You never know how you react to relapsing. The last one you took surprisingly well, this one not so much. If you think you were mean today, you don’t want to hear about your relapses right after your accident. He wanted to go on and take care of you, but… He kind of lost himself doing that and I couldn’t just watch you hurt each other all the time. So, yes, I did the right thing.”

He doesn’t want to think about prior relapses, about saying the most horrible, hateful things to Bill, about throwing stuff at him. For the first time today, he’s glad that he doesn’t remember. He still thinks Bill shouldn’t have left him, but he knows that’s pure selfishness, knows that Richie is right. It’s just hard to accept that he could hurt Bill in that way, that he has hurt him.

“And I’m not mean to you?”

Turn, tap, turn, tap, turn, tap. When Richie looks at him, he has that dumb grin on his face. “Ah you know, Stannyboy, we’ve always had this love-hate relationship going on. I love it when you’re mean to me.”

He’s lying, but Stan appreciates the attempt to lighten up the situation.  It’s what Richie does, it’s what he’s good at and maybe – if Stan really is that nasty when he relapses – Richie is the right person for the job. He has a thick skin and might be able to remind himself that Stan doesn’t truly mean it, at least Stan hopes that’s how it works out.

“I’m sorry.”

Richie waves him off. “S’all good. Just don’t yell at Bill again without having all the information. No actually, just don’t yell at him at all.” _Because I already did enough of that to last a lifetime._ Of course, Stan doesn’t know if that is true or if Richie is exaggerating about those relapses, but he just assumes the worst. “You ready for me to take you home? Your doctor will need to do a quick check up and you have therapy this evening too.”

“Therapy?”

He puts the cigarette in his mouth and smiles around it. “It’s not easy being you, babe. It helps having a professional to talk to and help you figure shit out.”

It’s not the thought of therapy that bothers him. He already saw a therapist during his senior year in high school when the stress got too much and his anxiety spiralled out of control. He just doesn’t think that therapy would help him much if he can’t remember his therapist most of the time and has to build up the relationship over and over again.

“Where’s Bill? I have to talk to him before we go.”

Richie’s smile falters a little. Does Bill not want to see him? Did they agree that Richie’s right and they shouldn’t be talking to each other? Did Bill leave? Maybe he hates him. If he didn’t hate him before, having the old Stan back for a moment only for him to shout at Bill like that, could very well push him over the edge.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I can’t just leave now, Richie. Not after what I said to him. I have to at least apologize.” He doesn’t care that he sounds desperate, because he is. If Bill doesn’t want to see him, that’s fine… Well not fine, but Stan just doesn’t want him to think it’s the other way around.

“Fine”, Richie sighs. “I’ll wait here. He’s in his bedroom, the door next to the desk when you go out there.”

Stan nods. His steps are big and determined until he’s almost crossed the living room and he realizes, he hasn’t prepared what he wants to say and he can’t fuck this up. Or fuck this up more than he already has. Knowing Richie is just in the other room and can probably hear everything, does nothing to calm his nerves. He’d rather not have an audience for this.

He knocks on the door, but doesn’t wait for an answer before entering, too scared he’ll lose his momentum if he does. The room is so empty, just a bed pushed against the wall and a dresser. It’s not a room you spend a lot of time in. The only thing that’s familiar are the black and grey striped sheets; Stan remembers picking them out so Bill would finally give in to buying that new big blanket that could comfortable cover both of them. Bill is sitting on the end of the bed, his head in his hands, making Stan worry he’s crying again. Thankfully, his eyes are dry, when he lifts his head.

Stan stays by the door, not wanting to intrude and also needing a quick exit if this goes the wrong way. “Hey”, he mutters.

“Hey”, Bill says just as quiet.

This is ridiculous. Just this morning he woke up next to Bill, telling him about a weird dream of flying hotdogs, playfighting him afterwards until he’d almost been late for his morning class and now that’s history and he’s standing in a bedroom that’s not theirs just Bill’s and doesn’t know how to talk to him anymore. Ridiculous.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to ap-p-p-p-pologize.”

Stan frowns. Did Bill not hear him earlier? Had he just imagined the tears? “Of course, I have to. I was an asshole to you.”

Bill shrugs. “You were right though. I did l-l-l-leave you.”

Although Stan knows why he did it now, it still hurts to have him admit it. He doesn’t want to blame him, wants to remember Richie’s reasons for keeping them apart, but it’s hard, when all he wants is to trust and love Bill like before, like he still does. It’s not fair that he has to go through this now with all these emotions while Bill has had the time to adjust and move on.

“You left because I was awful to you every day. That’s what Richie says”, he says, pushing his hands deep into his pockets to keep them still. “Worse than today.”

“That wasn’t you.” Bill’s voice is rough and Stan hopes he isn’t remembering one of those Top Five Worst Relapses, hopes he’ll never have to hear about them. “You were scared and confused.”

“Doesn’t matter why I did it, I still…” His voice breaks, so he takes a deep breath and starts over. “I still hurt you. Richie made the right decision.”

“You d-don’t know that.” It makes Stan smile how defensive Bill is about that. He doesn’t know if that’s just the anger or because Bill still cares about him. He knows what he wants it to be though. It gives him hope that he won’t lose Bill completely.

He shakes his head. “Maybe not, but he did what I would’ve wanted him to do. You know, hurting you is the last thing I want.”

Bill’s smile is fake, more of a grimace as he tries to hide the sadness in his eyes. Maybe he’s forgotten how well Stan knows him. Well, he can’t fault him for that. “Do you… st-t-t-till want that? Do you think it would be b-better for you?”

“Are you asking if I want you to stay away?”

Bill nods.

“No!” The word is out of his mouth before he even has time to think about it. He doesn’t want Bill to stay away, of course not, but maybe it would be better. What if they go back to how they were before Richie stepped in? What if they aren’t good for each other anymore? Can he really put Bill through that just because he wants to be with him? Isn’t that selfish? “I mean… I want to see you, but… only if that’s okay with you. I don’t expect anything from you just because I suddenly remember you again.” Has he always been this good at lying? Because he wants Bill around even if it would hurt him and part of him even expects him to be there. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Bill gets up and takes the few steps to bridge the space between them. He’s still more than a foot away, but Stan’s heart beats excitedly in his chest at the thought that Bill might reach out and pull him closer, maybe even kiss him. He, sadly, does neither.  

“Good”, he says, a real smile on his face now. “I know Richie has to t-t-t-t-take you b-b-b-back to the home now, b-b-but I thought that m-m-muh-maybe I could visit you t-tomorrow?”

They stand there as if Bill just asked him on their first date and Stan nods, feeling his cheeks heat up. This is dumb. He’s happy, of course, that Bill isn’t mad at him and wants to be around him again, but Stan doesn’t really want to start their relationship all over again, he just wants things to be normal. He doesn’t want Richie to take him back to some weird home where he has to see doctors and therapists, he wants to be in their old apartment and curl up on the couch with Bill and watch some dumb reality tv so he can make fun of it.

Hesitantly he takes a step forward. He wants to hug Bill before he leaves, wrap his arms around him and not let go for a long time, smell the familiar scent and card his fingers through his hair, but he doesn’t know if that’s okay. “That… Yes”, he mumbles. “Tomorrow.”

They stare at each other while Stan waits for Bill to say something more or move or whatever, but he does nothing and it’s incredibly awkward. It’s like they aren’t done here, but there’s nothing more to say. He’s almost grateful when Richie loudly makes his way to the front door, Stan can see him out of the corner of his eye. “The carriage is leaving, princess!”

Stan rolls his eyes, gives Bill one last smile and walks over to Richie, who immediately throws an arm around his shoulders and tugs him into his side. “I wouldn’t call your nasty old truck a carriage.”

“You’re lucky Manny can’t hear you right now. If you hurt her feelings you’ll have to walk.” He’s pretty sure the truck had a different name, but he doesn’t want to bring it up. Richie is already ridiculous enough about that piece of shit vehicle. “See ya, Big Bill!”, he shouts over his shoulder as he drags Stan along. There’s no response, maybe Bill is still mad at him. Stan hopes they won’t be fighting for long. It’s his fault anyway, because he wasn’t careful and got his head all messed up. He ruined everything, didn’t he?

 

It’s late when he finally gets time to be alone and reflect on the events of the day. His doctor was excited that he was still there after the relapse, his therapist helped clear up a few things and Richie was there the whole time. Now that he lies on his bed in the dark room he wonders if this will stop feeling weird. Will he be able to shake that feeling that he’ll just go to sleep and wake up back in his old life?  

When the door is pushed open and the light from the hallway falls in, Stan sits up. He barely recognizes the man in the door as Mike, the guy from the bathroom earlier. It doesn’t even feel like that was just a few hours ago.

Mike doesn’t turn on the light as he makes his way to the couch and sits down. “Migraine getting to you?”

“I took some painkillers”, he says as he swings his legs off the bed and joins him. The headache is persistent though, he can still feel it in his temples, but the pain is dull, not as bad as before.

“I just wanted to give you this.” Mike holds out a black journal to him that Stan takes hesitantly. “You left it in the café.”

“This is mine?” He’s already flipping through the pages, most of them are blank except for a few in the front. Stan immediately recognizes his neat, tiny handwriting. They are notes about his life. Looks like new Stan wasn’t a complete idiot.

“Yes, you started doing it after your last relapse. I think there are more.”

Stan immediately drops the journal onto the couch, crosses the room to turn on the light and starts searching. He finds them rather quickly. Two more black journals placed on top of the row of books in the middle shelf. Both of them are filled with notes and anecdotes, sometimes they are very detailed.

“Thank you!” He doesn’t know if he’s more grateful for Mike telling him or for having the sense to write important stuff down. Maybe this is only notes of the past week, but it’s something at least.

“You better have written about me and Ben”, Mike says with a lopsided grin. “We’re kind of important.”

They are probably used to Stan freaking out on them, but he is still amazed by how nice Mike is to him even though Stan was close to punching him earlier. He’d have every right to be insulted or upset about that.

He hugs the journals to his chest, knowing they are his most prized possession at this point. “I’m sure I have. I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Oh, me too!”

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

“We discussed it with Dr Pine and she said, I should have gone and gotten help instead of telling you about the relapse.” Mike shrugs. “Never had to do it before.”

Stan smiles. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad I didn’t actually hit you.”

He laughs and raises his right fist as if to punch the air in front of him. “You looked ridiculous, buddy. I don’t think you can do much damage with those.”

If Mike wasn’t so right, Stan might have been offended, but now he just laughs along. It’s probably good they are friends or he might have gotten an even more messed up brain out of that restroom encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't really have them fight for much longer, I felt too awful about that^^
> 
> Chapter title inspired by Nicht Nichts by AnnenMayKantereit... such a good band
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr @mountain-of-cookies


	9. A Ship Between Harbours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Bill try to figure out what they are to each other

There are dark circles under his eyes as he slumps into his seat. When he isn’t greeted, he looks up to make sure he did pick the right table and is in fact sitting opposite Ben and Mike.

“You look like shit”, Mike says, then goes back to eating his cereal.

“How are you?”, Ben says.

Stan stifles a yawn. “I couldn’t sleep. Stayed up all night reading my notes and adding to them.”

He started with the newest one and worked his way back, finding out he’d been basically stalking Bill at his café for the past week. He never talked to him, just wrote down every little detail he could remember about him from before, which Stan thankfully still remembers now. There’s notes about Ben and Mike too, which is why he feels a lot more comfortable with them than he would otherwise.

“What…” Ben stops, thinking for a long moment, then points at the journal next to Stan. “What is…”

“What did I write?”, Stan asks, trying to figure out what he means. Ben nods.

“Handsome Red is handsome”, Mike says. “Stanley Uris + Handsome Red with lots of hearts.”

Ben who has just taken a sip of his coffee, clamps a hand over his mouth as he giggles, trying not to spit everywhere. Mike looks pleased with himself.

“His name is Bill”, Stan says, not that he actively dislikes the nickname, he just thinks it’s going to be embarrassing if they keep referring to him like that. Especially if he’s lucky enough and Bill comes and starts visiting him now. “And no.”

“How do you know him anyway? That was a bit of a surprise.”

Ben grins. “You look… him… all time.” It takes him a while but in the end he manages to form a somewhat understandable sentence.

“Yes, you’ve been staring at that poor man ever since that café opened.”

Although he already knows that – he wrote that in his journal too – it still makes him blush. Well, Bill is amazing, even if he couldn’t remember him, it doesn’t surprise Stan that he still liked him.

“He is… We used to…” It’s hard to find the right word to describe it. Bill is not his boyfriend anymore, but he can’t bring himself to say ex-boyfriend, because it doesn’t feel like that to Stan. He’s still very much in this relationship even if Bill isn’t.

“Love”, Ben supplies helpfully.

“Yeah.”

Ben looks like one of those people in romantic comedies, who have just gotten the love confession they’ve been hoping for the entire movie and Stan would think it’s sweet, if he weren’t so painfully aware of how bittersweet his reunion with Bill is. Maybe Bill only wanted to come today so he can get closure and it’s not about Stan at all.

Unable to look at Ben with that expression any longer, Stan goes to get himself some coffee to wake up and some French toast. When he comes back, Ben has dropped the dopey smile, thankfully.

“What’s the plan for today?”, Mike asks as he sits down again. “Is Richie coming?”

“I’m not sure.” When Richie left him last night, he had only reminded him to be nice to Bill – as if he needed reminding – but he never said anything about being back the next day. Maybe he’d overheard his and Bill’s conversation and knew he’d be busy today anyway. Although Stan kind of can’t wait to meet Richie’s boyfriend. If he can trust his own handwriting, he liked him last time, but there are certain things you just have to see for yourself.

“Book house”, Ben says, smiling widely. Is he ever not smiling? “We… not buh-b…”

Mike nods. “We didn’t go yesterday. We could go t-…” He stops himself, looking at something behind Stan. “Handsome Red Alert!”, he suddenly blurts, startling his friends.

Stan turns around and his stomach drops. He was staring at someone rather than something and as Bill makes his way over to them, Stan realizes he’s definitely close enough to have heard Mike’s exclamation. The rather smug grin is all the proof Stan needs.

He shushes Mike although the damage is already done. Not that his friends have the decency to feel bad about giving him away like that. They share one look that makes Ben hide his giggles in his coffee cup, while Mike just beams at Stan and Bill. He hates his new friends. Maybe you could have a type when it comes to friends too, because these two are just as bad as Richie and Bev. It might be a little too early to say this with certainty, all Stan knows about them can fill a few pages in his journals, so it might not be all that accurate, but right now it feels exactly like if he was sitting here with Richie and Bev, only that Richie would make even worse comments.

As Bill walks towards them, Stan starts to panic. How is he supposed to act around him? Should he get up to greet him or just wait for Bill to sit down with them? Should he hug him? A handshake? No, that’s too formal. A wave? Definitely not. A fist bump? If he absolutely wanted to make an ass of himself, maybe. He rubs his sweaty palms on his pants and watches with dread that Bill has almost reached them. Is this seriously their relationship now? Stan already hated feeling like a lovesick teenager when he actually fit that demographic, it’s a thousand times worse now that he’s supposed to have grown out of that state.

Bill saves him from fucking up too badly – too bad there’s no hiding the excessive sweating and looking like a deer caught in headlights – by just placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling out the chair next to him. Stan stops himself from leaning into the touch at the last second, pretending to flick hair out of his face instead. “I’m s-sorry, I know I’m r-r-really early.”

Stan smiles at him. Is he so early because he couldn’t wait to see him or is that just wishful thinking? “That’s okay.”

They look at each other for a bit longer than necessary, which makes Mike snicker, but Stan doesn’t care. Unfortunately, Bill does. He pulls his hand away and acknowledges the two men opposite them for the first time. “Hey, I’m Handsome Ruh-Red, but Bill for sh-sh-sh-short.”

Stan’s face felt like it was on fire as he quickly buried it in his hands with a groan. He couldn’t just let the comment slide, could he?

“Ben!”

“I’m Mike. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“I told them not to call you that.” Stan’s voice is muffled by his hands as he refuses to look at anyone right now.

“I’ve been c-called worse.” Bill brings his chair closer and rests his left arm casually on the back of Stan’s. Slowly Stan lowers his hands to look at him. His cheeks still feel warm, but he hopes his face doesn’t resemble a ripe tomato anymore. It should be a crime to look this good early in the morning, especially when Stan sits here with bags under his eyes and looks everything but desirable. It’s not that he isn’t happy about Bill being here already, he just wanted to change into something else, maybe find some makeup somewhere to hide his sleepless night. When Stan leans back and Bill doesn’t move his arm, he takes that as a good sign. He isn’t putting it around Stan either, mind you, it’s just there, but that is enough for now. “G-good to see you’re friends ag-g-g-g-gain.”

Ben looks almost offended at the idea of them not being friends. It makes Stan like him more. “Never”, he says and then looks shocked at his own outburst, shakes his head. “Not never… other…”

Mike pats him on the back. “Wrong word?” Ben nods. “Maybe Ben means we never stop being Stan’s friends.” Ben shrugs, which Stan takes to mean it’s not what he wanted to say but it’s still true. He doesn’t know how long he’s been friends with them and isn’t sure how well that works out, when he can’t remember them every time he relapses, but it’s still nice to see they care that much about him.

 

After breakfast, Stan leads Bill back to his room in silence. When had it gotten so hard to just speak to him? Just a moment ago Bill had easily talked to Mike and Ben, while Stan only occasionally commented on something but otherwise he was content to just eat in silence. Is this just Stan’s fault or is Bill raking his brain for something to say too? It’s just everything that he could say relates directly to his amnesia and their relationship and he doesn’t know if that is something they should talk about. Not yet at least. But what else is there to say? He can’t just go ‘Seen any good movies lately?’, can he?

As Stan looks for a bag, he can put his journal in – he’s not going anywhere without it, what if he relapses and he doesn’t believe Bill again? Or worse, he doesn’t remember him? – Bill slowly moves through the room, sometimes pausing to inspect an item more closely. He is just putting back a picture of Stan, Mike and Ben at dance night when Stan turns around. “It hasn’t ch-changed much”, Bill says.

“You’ve been here before?” Did he know that? He can’t remember if he wrote it down or not, maybe he didn’t, maybe no one told him about it.

Bill shrugs. “When you moved in. A c-c-couple of t-times after, but it’s been a while.”

When did he stop visiting? Why did he stop? Did Richie just guard the door and not let him in? Stan doubts that. Somewhere along the way Bill must have realized Richie was right and made the decision to stay away on his own. One day he just decided that he couldn’t be bothered to go see Stan if he didn’t remember him anyway. As much as he wants to know, he doesn’t want to hear it, so he never asks.

“Are you telling me where we’re going now?”, Stan asks instead, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Instead of answering, Bill walks over to the window to grab Stan’s binoculars from the sill and hands them to him. “Don’t you want it to b-b-b-be a surp-p-p-p-pri-i-ise?”

He raises an eyebrow, but carefully puts the binoculars in the bag. “No. I’m kind of over surprises at this point.”

Bill’s smile falters for a moment. “Okay. Rememb-b-b-ber how I st-t-till owe you a trip to the b-b-botanical garden?”

It takes Stan a few seconds to catch up, but then he remembers, of course he does. It was their very first date and Bill had insisted on taking him to the botanical garden to birdwatch although Stan had assured him many times they should do something else, something they’d both enjoy. _“I enj-j-j-joy birdwatching as l-long as it’s with you. Now sh-sh-shut up!”_ They’d taken public transport, again because Bill insisted it was his date and he wasn’t going to let Stan drive them anywhere. They never made it there, first they got on the wrong subway, then Stan insisted they have ice cream at this small parlour because they had peppermint ice cream, then Bill got side-tracked when they walked past a record store that sold old vinyls. He wanted to just come back another time, but Stan noticed the excited glint in his eyes and made him go in. They almost spent two hours in there, pointing out stuff they liked, cool artwork, funny band names and whatnot. In the end, it was too late and they decided to just get something to eat instead. For some reason, they never went to the botanical garden afterwards either, always doing something else instead. Stan didn’t mind, he still thought they had the best first date, he could’ve asked for.

“I remember”, he says, feeling the blush creep onto his cheeks again. What does this mean? Is Bill taking him on a date or is he just settling old debts? “Do you think we’ll actually get there this time?”

“I’m hopeful.” Bill grins. “This t-t-t-time we’re not getting l-l-lost on the sub.” He pushes up the sleeve of his green flannel to reveal directions scribbled onto his arm. Well, Stan assumes it’s directions, because he has a hard time recognizing the scrawl as words.

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can read that?”

“What?” Bill glances down at his arm, then back up at Stan with a pout. “This is p-p-perfectly readable.”

Stan picks up his bird guide from the shelf and pushes it into his bag. “Sure, maybe it’s just the old head injury acting up. Although I haven’t had trouble reading before.”

He immediately regrets making the jab, when he sees Bill’s face fall. Is it still too early to joke about his condition? It’s been years. Well, not for him, but Stan feels better if he can at least make a few light-hearted comments about it, instead of being mad about all the time he’s lost. Well, he’ll probably not stop being mad either, so he’ll just do both. But maybe not around Bill.

“Can we not m-m-make amnesia jokes?”, he asks, trying and failing to smile.

“Sorry.” He feels like it should be the other way around, the topic being more of a sore spot for him than Bill, but then he thinks of all the relapses he doesn’t remember but Bill might never forget, some that might have been worse than yesterday.

“Ready to go?”

Stan expects Bill to take his hand just like they used to do, but he doesn’t. They walk next to each other barely touching. He would say as friends, but even Bev and Richie find a way to touch him. Every time Stan bumps his hand against Bill’s or nudges his shoulder, hoping he’ll get the hint, Bill just moves away. Not a date then. He tries not to be too disappointed by it but fails. They’ve been together so long, Stan isn’t sure he knows how to be just friends with Bill, isn’t sure he wants to even try. He has to.

They don’t get lost on the subway, but while they sit there, legs and shoulders pressed against each other, Stan thinks about his last memory before relapsing in the restroom. The subway had been less crowded than today, there had been a guy with a pet rat sitting across from him and a lady talking too loudly on her phone, but Stan hadn’t even thought about finding another spot because he was too exhausted from class and too excited to get home and beat everyone at game night.

He doesn’t know how many days passed between then and his accident and the more he tries to get those memories back, the more his head hurts. He tried all of last night. The accident wasn’t really an accident at all, he knows, because he read about it in his journal. He has half a mind to ask Bill if he knows what he was doing at Hella’s Claw that day, but stops himself. This probably falls in the same category as amnesia jokes and if Bill did know something, he would’ve told someone already. He’s again lost for words. Is the amnesia really all he can talk about? Well, it’s only been two days and he has still so many questions.

Bill nudges his knee. “This is our st-t-top.”

Stan is relieved when they finally get out and the feeling of being trapped slowly dissolves. It’s not like he feared another relapse, but he can’t help that that’s what subways remind him of now. Not that he was a big fan of them before either.

“You okay? You’re a l-l-l-l-little pale.”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He smiles at Bill. “Just lead the way.”

He brushes his knuckles against Bill’s, letting his hand linger, but when Bill doesn’t take it, he shoves his hands in his pockets and follows him, always staying a step behind him. _We’re not together. He’s not my boyfriend. He doesn’t need to hold my hand. It’s totally fine._ It’s not fine and Stan has a hard time hiding how annoyed he is. He has no reason to be, which only annoys him more.

It’s only when they reach the botanical garden that Bill tries to talk to him, commenting on flowers, bushes and trees which Stan only acknowledges by nodding or grunting in agreement. He couldn’t care less about the flora. He steers towards the first bench he sees, pulls out his binoculars and bird guide and pretends to watch some sparrows in a nearby tree. All the happiness and excitement about seeing Bill today has been replaced by annoyance and hurt. Maybe he had too high expectations, a lot of things can change in two years and even if Bill still had feelings for him, maybe he just realized it wasn’t going to work out, that they were both too different now. Only Stan is not different, he’s still the same which is the whole problem. He doesn’t fit in anymore, not in Bill’s life, not anywhere really.

When he feels his throat close up, he starts drumming his fingers against the bench, trying to distract himself. He’s not going to cry, he’s not going to explain all this to Bill. This was a mistake, such a mistake. A child screaming nearby sends the sparrows flying, but Stan keeps the binoculars pressed to his eyes, pretending not to notice. Maybe he should tell Bill he’s overwhelmed or has a headache or something so they can go back. Bill is slipping and what’s the point in dragging it out when the result is the same? In the end, he’ll be alone. He can already feel Bill’s absence even though he’s sitting right next to him.

Bill grabs fort he binoculars, but Stan holds onto them, his eyes fixed on Bill’s fingers almost brushing against his own. “Stan.” His voice is pressed and Stan doesn’t have to look him in the eye to know he’s hurting. _Be nice to Bill,_ is what Richie said, looks like he needed the reminder after all. “What’s wrong?”

Laughter builds in his stomach and as much as Stan tries to fight it, he can’t help it spilling out in fits of giggles. How about everything? Everything is fucking wrong and he has no idea how to fix it, if it’s even fixable. Quickly he glances at Bill, sees the worry etched into the corners of his mouth and his furrowed brow, and laughs even harder. He presses a hand to his mouth to muffle it and shakes his head.

“You… you tell me, Bill”, he says. “Why are we here?”

“Because I owe…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know”, he interrupts. “That’s the point. You don’t owe me anything. Especially… well, it’s a bit fucked up to take me here.” Bill pulls his hands back, pushing them between his thighs, Stan stares at them as he continues: “This was supposed to be our first date, I don’t know why you would bring me here to break up. Like, I get it’s some kind of poetic full-circle thing, but it’s also cruel. And I know we’re not together anymore and you technically can’t break up with me but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

The words rush out of his mouth, leaving him a little breathless.

“I wasn’t g-g-going to”, Bill says.

“No, you were just pretending like nothing happened and it’s worse.” He rubs his eyes before looking up, making sure there are no tears. “I love you.” The words roll of his tongue easily enough, he’s had a lot of practice, and it’s meant as a statement not a confession, but Bill inhales sharply, his eyes grow big, and Stan quickly continues before he can be interrupted. “I’m sorry. I know, it’s been two years for you, but it’s been barely two days for me and I can’t just stop, okay? I can’t just pretend that we’re friends now or whatever. Not yet.” He says it much more confidently than he is. Getting over Bill seems like an impossible task.

Bill sighs, and when he looks at Stan again, there’s so much love and sadness in his eyes that all he wants to do is hold him until none of it matters anymore. “I’m sorry. I d-d-don’t know what I was thinking”, he says slowly, carefully choosing every single word. Stan hates it, he just wants Bill to say what’s on his mind. “I j-j-j-j-ju-… only wanted to make you happy.”

 _That’s not your job anymore_. He doesn’t say it, not wanting to give Bill an out and do the breaking up for him. If he wants out, he has to do it himself. That’s the only thing he still owes him.

“I still can’t bel-l-l-lieve you know who I am”, Bill says when it’s become clear that Stan isn’t going to reply. “I’ve wished for it to ha-ha-happen, p-pictured it many times, but I didn’t believe it would. I thought… th-th-th-thought that it would stop with time and that I would stop thinking ab-b-b-bout you if I d-didn’t see you, if I was at the other end of the world. It t-t-turns out I’m not very good at m-moving on from you.”

He hates how quickly he gets his hopes up again, how he can’t fight the smile forming on his lips, how he starts picturing them together again. Just because Bill isn’t good at it, doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried it, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. Stan has to remind himself of how distant Bill is with him and how he’s measuring his words. There’s a ‘but…’ coming and he won’t like it.

“I g-g-g-guess we have to, th-though.” No, he doesn’t like it at all. Where is this coming from? Yesterday Bill asked to see him and he took him out here and now all of a sudden, he thinks that was all a bad idea? Did he do something wrong? He couldn’t move on those past two years, but spending one day around him suddenly did the trick?

“Why?”

“Because I’m not g-g-g-good for you.”

That is not what Stan expected to hear, not at all. His mouth drops as he turns around, so he can sit and face Bill, who is staring down at the pavement, biting the nails of his right hand. He could understand if Bill said, that Stan wasn’t good for him, because yes, he’d been an asshole to him on many occasions and if it hurt him to be around him then Stan could understand that, but what did Bill ever do to him? Stan can’t remember a single thing that would warrant that opinion.

He reaches out and takes Bill’s hand, stopping him from biting his nails and pretends not to care when Bill jerks away. “What? Why?”

“It’s m-m-m-m-… It’s my fault! That you are… l-l-like that, have amnesia, I mean.”

“How so? You’re not the one who beat me up.”

“No, b-but I’m the reason you were there”, Bill says quietly. “You were get-t-t-t-ting something for m-m-me.”

Was that all? It certainly explained why Stan was in that area in the first place. He was more curious as to what he could get for Bill there, but thought it wasn’t that important right now. He could still ask later. Stan reaches out again, brushing his fingers lightly over Bill’s jaw, not wanting to force the touch on him, just wanting him to look at him again.

“That doesn’t make it your fault, idiot”, he says softly. “Seriously, Bill, that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard and I’ve been friends with Richie for a long time now.”

It makes him smile a little bit, but then Bill shakes his head and looks away again. “But if it wasn’t for m-m-me you wouldn’t ha-have b-b-b-been there.”

“Yeah and if it hadn’t been for Richie being dumb you would’ve never spilt your drink all over me and we would’ve never met. If I hadn’t found Richie’s add, I would’ve never met him and he wouldn’t have dragged me to that show. That’s how life works.” He can tell Bill isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t really know what else to tell him. Bill’s probably gone and blamed himself for his amnesia for a long time, so long it’s going to be hard to show him how stupid that is.

“Bill?” Stan waits for him to look up again. There’s just one more thing he needs to know now. “Is this why you’re being weird? Because you think it’s your fault I got mugged and I’m better off without you? Or do you not want to be with me? Because I need to know which one it is.”

“I always want to be with you.”

His heart skips a beat and it takes a lot of restraint for him to not jump into Bill’s lap and kiss him senseless right now. As much as he wants it to be like before it can’t be like that immediately, there’s still been two years of separation and a lot of hurt, but all that matters right now is that he and Bill are on the same page.

“Good, because you’re wrong. I could never be better off without you.”

Stan scoots closer to him and this time, Bill doesn’t pull away. He puts an arm around him and Stan rests his head on his shoulder, finally being able to relax. Of course, this is not the end of it, he knows that, but this is good for now. Bill seems to feel the same way, because when he speaks again, he’s telling him about his travels. They had started in Canada, hiking through national parks and just getting away from everything. It was supposed to just be two weeks, but when they came to an end, Bill dreaded coming back to New York and with Georgie just graduating high school, he didn’t have anywhere to be. They bought a one-way ticket to New Zealand, worked on a sheep farm for a while until they wanted to see something new and bought a ticket to Greece and travelled through Europe. They even saw that island that Bill once saw a documentary of and wouldn’t stop talking about for weeks. It gives Stan a bit of a heartache that he wasn’t there, he’d always wanted to see all the places that Bill was so mesmerized by although he didn’t have any travel plans himself.

It’s only when Bill lightly shakes him, that Stan realizes he’s dozed off. Quickly he sits up, smiling sheepishly at Bill. “I’m sorry. You weren’t boring me, I was just…”

“Tired?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

Bill smiles back at him and reaches for his hand, it’s warm and secure and all Stan wants to do is sink back into him and stay here forever. Bill has other plans though as he pulls him up from the bench.

“Where are we going?”

“Luh-luh-looking at plants, Stan. We’re in a b-botanical garden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We might be done with the angst after this... for the most part at least
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @mountain-of-cookies


	10. Tonight We Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Dance Night at the home. The first one all the Losers are spending together

He goes a month without relapsing. It’s a month of getting to know his friends again, old and new. A month of growing closer to Bill again. A month of being his own person again. Who would’ve thought he’d be so happy about having a phone again that he almost cries? It’s a seemingly small thing, but it means everything to him when he lies awake at night and Richie sends him pictures of a sleeping Eddie covered in post-its, or he has hushed conversations with Bill.

Things are different, but things are good. He has his journals and Richie, who apparently goes nowhere without his camera – _“What if something funny happens? My subscribers will be so disappointed if I don’t put it in the vlog” –_ makes a lot of videos of him. He doesn’t upload them, just sends them to Stan so he has them to help him remember after his next relapse. Stan surprisingly doesn’t hate Richie’s job, but maybe it’s not so surprising after all because he’s always liked to laugh at his stupid antics, now there’s just three million people laughing too. Stan will gladly play the cameraman as long as he’s not in the videos.

He is sitting cross-legged on his bed, writing about the day’s events, when the door flies open and his friends stream inside. It’s kind of weird to have all six of them in here, but it also feels strangely right. Like something has fallen into place.

“Look at us being fancy and shit!”, Richie shouts, capturing them all with his camera. He stops on Ben, panning up and down him. “Especially Haystack looks hunkalicious today. Tell us, good sir, who are you wearing tonight?”

Ben flushes at the attention, but smiles nonetheless. Does he ever not smile? He even pushes his thumbs under his suspenders and strikes a pose. “It’s a… uhm… Beverly… It’s new.”

“An original, he means”, Bev chimes in. She fixes the floral collar of his shirt and links their arms. “It looks great on him, doesn’t it?”

“It does, it does”, Richie agrees, pointing the camera at Stan. “We’re all quite dashing, except of course our dear Stanley here.”

He hasn’t changed for dance night yet and he can feel Mike’s disapproving look on him as he gets off the bed and hugs Bill, not bothering with proper greetings for the rest. Dance night is serious business for Mike, he knows, so he grabs the clothes he’s picked out for the night and disappears into the bathroom, not wanting to make him wait.

While he gets dressed he can hear them messing around in his room. Richie is doing weird noises and it’s only when he hears Bev and Eddie encourage Mike to dance, that he realizes, Richie is beatboxing, badly. There’s a lot of laughter afterwards and then Eddie tells him to put the damn camera away. _“Only for you, my love.”_ He’s pretty sure it’s not just Bev who ‘awww’s at them.

He buttons his dress shirt with nimble fingers, brushes some lint from his grey blazer and fixes his curls in the mirror. When he’s sure he looks good, he rejoins his friends. He meets Bill’s eyes first, they are all crinkly, he’s smiling so big. “You look great”, he mutters only for Stan to hear and intertwines their fingers. His heart beats fast in his chest as he squeezes Bill’s hand lightly. It’s like the beginning of their relationship again, where every little touch makes him feel warm and gooey inside and he needs Bill’s attention on him all the time, but it’s also not like that, because there’s so much more there. It’s not as light and carefree, but there’s also less worrying that Bill will get tired of him.

“Oh my, oh my”, Richie shouts and snaps Stan out of staring at his boyfriend. “Look at you, babe! You’re a stud. Studley Uris.”

Eddie purses his lips and not so accidentally steps on Richie’s foot. “What did we say about calling other people babe?”

Richie’s grin widens, if that’s even possible as he pulls Eddie into a hug again. “It’s not flirting if it’s Stan, Eddiebear. You know I love only you!”

“The only thing I’m jealous of is the somewhat normal nickname, asshole”, Eddie says, although everyone knows he’s lying.

“I can’t call you Studley, it doesn’t work with your name.”

“Just forget it!”

“Yes, forget it, Richie!”, Mike agrees, who’s already pushing Bev and Ben out the door. “We’re leaving now.”

Richie claps him on the shoulder, grabs Eddie’s hand and drags him along. Stan and Bill follow slowly. He hadn’t thought their friend group could get any louder and busier, but with the addition of Ben and Mike and especially Eddie, it’s gotten way worse. Worse in a good way.

“Are you ready?”, he asks quietly. “I hear this thing is like a weird school dance. That’s what I wrote in the journal at least.”

Bill smiles and squeezes his hand. “Well, I always wondered what it would be luh-like to go to p-p-p-prom with you.”

Stan snorts. “No, you did not.”

“Fine, but I am now.”

“Let’s find out. It’s basically the same thing only we’re all adults and instead of teachers there’s nurses and doctors.”

“Will we get in t-t-trouble if we get caught m-making out?”

Stan feels his cheeks heat up, but he matches Bill’s wide grin. It really is like being teenagers in love again, especially tonight. “I think it’s frowned upon, yes.”

“That’s a shame.”

“We’ll just have to not get caught then.” Stan winks at him before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

Before it can go anywhere, there’s a shout from ahead. It’s almost as if Richie has a sixth sense for interrupting people. “Oi, lovebirds, are you coming or what?”

Bill giggles against Stan’s mouth before he pulls away. “So m-m-m-much for not getting caught.”

“Richie doesn’t count. He’s seen worse.” Which was his own damn fault. You shouldn’t walk into other people’s bedrooms without knocking, especially if you had stolen all the keys in the apartment because _“We are all friends here and friends don’t lock doors. Not even when they take a big steaming dump.”_ Stan hadn’t been able to look Richie in the eye for three days, but at least he’d gotten the keys back. This way he didn’t have to worry about Richie dumping ice water over him in the shower, which was probably the only reason why he had taken the keys in the first place.

The only thing that could make dance night more like a school dance would be a punch bowl and a disco ball, Stan is glad they have neither. Mike is already on the dancefloor with Beverly, spinning her around expertly. Of course, Richie is there too. Stan groans when he sees he’s dancing with his doctor.

He and Bill join Eddie and Ben at the edge of the dancefloor, Eddie is holding Richie’s camera, capturing the whole thing. “Why aren’t you dancing with him?”, Stan asks, because if he were, Richie wouldn’t be able to embarrass him in front of all these people in charge of his well-being.

“He says it’s tradition”, Eddie replies without looking at him. Is this the first time Eddie’s here for dance night? Huh, Stan would’ve thought Richie would’ve dragged him along sooner.

He looks over at Ben for help, but he just shrugs. “It’s true.”

They only get to watch them for a short while until Dr Pine leaves Richie and he comes over to them, smiling proudly. He takes the camera from Eddie, turns it off and places it on a nearby table. “Who of you lovelies is going to be next?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Bill. “Is it you Big Bill?”

“I’m good.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and grabs Richie’s arm. “Stop being dumb and dance with me!”

“Can we do our routine?”

“No, we’re not doing the fucking dance from Dirty Dancing, Richie!”

“Then why did you make me learn it?”

“I did not!” Eddie glares at him, then looks at all of them with the most serious face he can muster. “I did not!”

Richie ruffles his hair. “I have video proof, Eds.”

“If you had a video of us doing that dance, you would know we look fucking stupid, but you don’t because that never happened”, Eddie says, shoving Richie away from them and onto the dancefloor.

Stan and Bill turn to each other at the exact same time. “We need to get our hands on that video.”

Not only does he need to see that with his own two eyes, but he needs it for blackmail. Maybe Richie isn’t embarrassed by it, but it couldn’t hurt to have it just in case he needs some dirt on Eddie.

Bev comes to them soon after, face flushed and beaming. “Are you just going to stand there? It’s called Dance Night for a reason.” When they don’t react, she rolls her eyes, grabs Bill and Ben and drags them onto the dance floor. Since Bill is still holding his hand, Stan has no other option but to follow, not that he wants to stand around and watch his friends have fun without him.

They are one big mess of flying limbs, laughter and awful singing along to the music. Stan doubts this is what the staff had in mind when they decided on Dance Night for the inhabitants, who probably all hate them right about now, but he doesn’t really care. He feels a set of hands on his hips and turns around to see Bev laughing at him. “You still suck at this.”

“It’s the amnesia”, he says.

“That would imply you knew how to dance to begin with.” She pokes her tongue out at him while she still tries to make him move to the rhythm. Maybe she’d have more success if Stan actually cared what he looks like on the dance floor, he’d care more if Bill didn’t already know he was a hopeless mess out here. Bev shakes her head and moves on from one awful dancer to the next, in this case Ben, but at least he has an excuse.

As soon as she’s gone, Bill wraps his arms around his waist and bows his head to whisper in Stan’s ear. “I’ll take you as you are, awkward l-limbs and all.”

“Your compliments used to be better”, he replies, turning around in Bill’s arms to look at him.

“Unlike your dancing.”

Stan swats his shoulder, but can’t help but return Bill’s smile. “Not you too. As if you’re any better.”

“Georgie m-m-made me learn all k-k-k-kinds of stupid dances when we were travelling.”

“I can do stupid dances too. I do a mean Macarena.”

Bill snorts. “Want to p-p-prove that?”

Wrapping his arms around Bill’s neck, he pulls him down so they foreheads are touching. “I’d rather die.”

While they sway to the music, Stan is hyperaware of Bill’s hands on his hips, of his warm breath ghosting over Stan’s nose, of his eyes sparkling with happiness and fondness. He doesn’t care how sappy it sounds, Bill is the most beautiful person in the world and he doesn’t understand how he got so lucky he picked him twice. His fingers play with the soft hair at the nape of Bill’s neck, his thumb dragging small circles on Bill’s skin. _I love you._ He hasn’t said it since that day at the botanical garden although he feels it every day he spends with Bill. Stan knows he shouldn’t, that it’s still too early and that Bill needs more time, but he feels it so much right now, he might burst if he doesn’t say it.

“I l-…” He’s cut off by Ben stumbling into him. The shorter man smiles at him with a shrug, before Richie drags him away again.

When Stan turns back to Bill, he’s watching their friends, laughing. The moment is gone.

“Sorry ‘bout that”, Mike says into his ear, grinning widely. “We didn’t want to interrupt you making heart eyes at each other. Didn’t think you could get even more ridiculous staring at Handsome Red, but I was wrong.”

Stan swats Mike’s shoulder. He’d really appreciate it if he could stop calling Bill that, not only because Richie had started calling them Handsome Red and Above-Average Noodlehead. It’s one of those things Richie thinks are funnier than they actually are. It doesn’t help that Bill seems to like his new nickname.

Mike grabs his hand and pulls him away from Bill, which Stan allows begrudgingly only because he doesn’t want them to be that annoying couple that can’t be apart for two seconds. “I’m just kidding, it’s sweet.”

“For someone who claims to be my favourite person, you sure annoy me an awful lot”, Stan says as Mike starts to lead him in a weird little dance that involves an awful lot of footwork that Stan doesn’t even try to copy.

“Only because I love you.”

Mike smiles at him crookedly and it’s the sweetest thing. Stan knows they are great friends, but it’s the first time Mike has told him that in such clear terms that he can remember. Maybe he’s just very emotional tonight, but Stan doesn’t care. He pulls Mike into a hug, holding him for a second before letting go.

Mike laughs and ruffles his hair with a large hand. “And I thought I was being sappy.”

Stan pushes him off, successfully removing himself from the weird dance Mike wanted him to do in the process. It didn’t matter, his spot was quickly taken over by Richie, who showed the right kind of enthusiasm for it much more than Stan could anyway.

 

Later he’s sitting on one of the sofas that are pushed against the wall sandwiched between Ben and Bev, who is resting her legs on both of their laps. He feels warm, loved and happy and he doesn’t want Dance Night to end, but he can see the number of inhabitants dwindling, everyone heading to their rooms and knows the staff will shut it down soon. For now, he’s content watching Mike, Bill, Richie and Eddie on the dancefloor, where Mike is teaching Eddie a Tango while Richie just kind of drags Bill around, both of them stumbling over their own feet, laughing so hard they almost fall. He remembers Richie’s camera, grabs it from behind them and starts recording them.

It’s so good to see them like this, like the friends he remembers them to be, because their friendship suffered so much under his amnesia. Neither of them had been willing to apologize after their fight on the day Stan relapsed, no matter what Stan said, Bill refused to accept that Richie had been right and Richie was just as stubborn. They weren’t cold with each other, but there was a barrier there that was new. When Bev had told him that Richie and Bill didn’t really hang out anymore unless she invited both of them to a thing and only spoke on the phone because Richie had to update Bill on Stan’s process, it had broken his heart. It’s Stan’s new goal: Put off the next relapse for as long as possible and get these idiots to be friends again. He thinks, he’s succeeding.

Bev leans into him, trying to see what he’s filming and grins. “And here we see four dorks in their natural environment. As you can tell dorks aren’t a very graceful species, but they do their best. They’re lucky effort is all it takes to attract a partner and mating dances are seldom seen among dorks.”

“I feel like you’re doing Mike dirty here”, Stan says quietly.

Right when he says it, Mike tries to spin Eddie and sends him careening into a pair of nurses standing nearby.

“No”, Bev giggles. “I don’t think I do.”

The staff takes Eddie’s stumbling as sign to stop the fun and the music cuts out and the lights turn on. It really does feel like the end of a school dance. Mike and Richie complain about Dance Night really just being a Dance Evening and it being 11pm and that’s when the actual fun is supposed to start, but they all file out of the room anyway.

Stan has just taken Bill’s hand again, when Richie throws his arms around him and Eddie. “My favourite boys”, he croons, burying his nose in Eddie’s hair and inhaling deeply.

Stan looks at Bill and his heart flutters, when he notices Bill is smiling back at him.

“You’re such a dumbass”, Eddie says softly. “Why do I love you?”

Richie’s head perks up. “Did everyone hear that? Eddie just admitted that he’s in love with me! You’re all my witnesses.”

“You’ve been dating for three years”, Bev calls from behind them.

“You live together”, Bill adds.

“You have a cat”, Stan says, because it’s been a month and he’s still not over the fact that Richie Tozier the biggest dog lover on this earth owns a cat.

“Why do you always say it like that?”, Eddie asks, pouting at Stan. “BB is an angel and Richie loves him.”

“For someone who hates nicknames you use them an awful lot, Eddie Spaghetti”, Richie says, smirking. “Why don’t you use his full name?”

“No!”

“Come on, say it.” Richie digs his fingers into Eddie’s sides, making him squirm away.

“Letting you name him could be considered animal abuse. I will spend a lifetime trying to make it up to him.”

They’re greeted with the cool night air when they step outside. The wind creeps right under his blazer and gives him goose bumps, so Stan wraps an arm around Bill’s waist, pressing himself into his side to soak up all his warmth.

“Banana Bacon loves his name almost as much as you love me.”

Eddie shakes his head, leaving it for now. He, Richie and Bev say goodbye to them before heading to Richie’s truck, but on the way there, Stan can hear the argument come up again. They probably fight over the cat’s name daily, which might be the sole reason Richie gave it that stupid name. Eddie still grabs Richie by the collar and kisses him before he slips into the passenger seat and although it’s dark outside, Stan swears he sees a dopey smile on Richie’s face as he gets in seconds later.

Mike and Ben wish them a goodnight and go back inside and then it’s just Stan and Bill standing in a parking lot. He knows he has to get inside too or Marcus at the front desk will come out and get him and he really doesn’t want the night to end like that. He feels so normal right now and he wants it to last. Bill turns his head and presses a kiss to his temple that makes Stan hold onto him a little tighter. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

“You should g-g-get some s-s-sleep too.”

“Don’t want to”, he mumbles into the crook of Bill’s neck.

“I know you’re t-t-tired. I’ll come see you tom-m-morrow.”

But his bed is cold and empty and Stan just wants to fall asleep next to Bill again, wants to listen to his even breaths when he dozes off first, feel his heart beat under his fingers and know he’ll be there when Stan wakes up.

“I hate when you go”, he says. “I never want you to leave.”

Bill cups his face with his hands, tilting it upwards so he can look Stan in the eyes. He might be a bit clingy, Stan realizes, maybe it’s too much. Bill already spends all his time with him and it’s still not enough? Why does he never think about Bill having a life apart from him?

Stan’s eyes flutter shut, when Bill presses his lips to his. The kiss almost urgent and forceful, a lot of need behind it that Stan doesn’t understand, but he kisses back just as enthusiastically, opening his mouth to Bill’s tongue.

They’re both a little out of breath when they part, Bill’s cheeks have a wonderful pinkish tint to them. “Move in with me.”

It takes him a moment to understand that Bill really just said that. Here he was worrying about saying I love you too soon and Bill springs that on him. He doesn’t mind though, not at all. It’s all he wants. He doesn’t think about future relapses and how that could affect them, doesn’t think about his doctors probably having something against it, doesn’t think about what their friends might say, just kisses Bill again. “I love you”, he whispers against his lips.

In between kisses, Bill says it back. “I luh-luh-love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so compelled to end the story after this chapter, because it felt like a nice ending. And then I realized I hadn't yet explained the circumstances of Stan's accident, so look forward to that in the next chapter.


	11. In A Parallel Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relapsing on moving day feels like the worst thing that can happen. It's not.

It’s day 42. That’s what he writes on the top of the page in his journal right after breakfast, calls it Moving Day. The closet and the shelf are empty, all his stuff put into boxes. Is it weird that Stan is going to miss this place? He’s always felt safe in this room as far as he can remember, he doesn’t mind having people cook for him either, and not living with Mike and Ben is going to be weird. He’ll miss it, but he’s also so excited to get out of here and live with Bill again.

There’s just the stuff in the bathroom left and Stan takes his time to make sure all the lids are screwed on correctly before putting the bottles and the toothpaste into his toilet bag, not wanting there to be a mess. He feels a little weird when he steps back into his room as if there’s something he’s forgotten, but when he glances back the bathroom is empty, no forgotten towel on the hook or shampoo bottle in the shower.

He shrugs it off and places the toilet bag in his suitcase, as he zips it up, he wonders if he’s going to be late. A glance at his watch tells him it’s only 10:26… but he can’t remember what time they have to be at the airport. Can’t remember where they are going either. Wait no… He looks around the room, sees the boxes and remembers he’s moving not going on vacation. Moving where? Come to think of it, he doesn’t really recognize the room he is in either.

He stumbles to the bed, puts his hands between his knees and tries to breathe evenly. What is happening? How did he get here? It’s fine. It’s just a little hole in his memory and it’ll come back to him any second now. Only Stan tries to remember, but all he comes up with is taking the subway home. He’s not home and he’s nowhere near a subway and it’s all very confusing.

When he looks up, he still has no clue what’s going on, but from what he can tell it’s all his stuff in those boxes. There’s an open journal on the bed next to him that he only notices now. He feels a little guilty for going through it, not knowing who it belongs to, but right now he just needs to figure something out. He’s even more confused when he recognizes his own handwriting. _Day 42 – Moving Day. I’m ready. Just waiting for Bill to come and pick me up. I can’t believe I’m actually going to live with him again and that I won’t have to sign a paper every time I want to leave the house._ Day 42 of what? He flips through the pages, but only gets more confused at the random snippets he reads. It’s only when he gets to the very first page that everything becomes a little bit clearer, but it makes Stan almost drop the journal. In bold, red letters it says: _Read this first!_ And underneath he’s written about himself, listing a bunch of facts that Stan thinks are inaccurate, but it only gets weirder with tales about a mugging, amnesia, relapses and it ends with _You’re scared and confused and maybe even angry, but you’re fine. If you just read this and think it’s all bullshit call Richie and let him explain it to you._

Is this what’s happening? He’s relapsing? Stan scans the room for a phone, but it takes him almost two minutes to locate it in his back pocket. There’s no passcode which he thinks is very unlike him, but if it’s true and he keeps forgetting large chunks of his life, that’s probably for the best. As he’s scrolling through his contacts, he wonders if he should call Bill instead, it just makes more sense to him, but he gets distracted by the name right underneath. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t know anyone called Eddie, he also remembers there being a lot more contacts in his phone, not just his friends, Bill and his parents. Maybe he should just listen to the damn journal.

Richie picks up after the second ring. “Stan the Man! Do you need a hot mover to carry your boxes?”

Oh right, he’s supposed to be moving. His mouth feels dry as he rakes his brain for what to say. His first instinct is to just go along with it, but the journal was very clear about not doing that.

“Stan?”

“Yes”, he says. “Uhm… I found this… I don’t know, I… Uh… Well, a journal and it… It…”

“Did you relapse?” He’s so glad when Richie cuts right to the chase, because he feels like he could’ve gone on rambling for a while.

“I think so. I don’t know where I am and there’s this journal and it says to call you, so…”

Richie makes a weird sound that he can’t place, but then there’s mumbling as if he’s talking to someone before he comes back. “I love those journals of yours. You had the accident two years ago, it’s almost three by now and the relapses are getting better. You made it over a month this time. You’re at the home right now, you used to live there, but Bill should be there any time now to pick you up. You still know who Bill is, right?”

“Of course, shouldn’t I?”

“Sometimes you don’t.” He doesn’t? That doesn’t seem right, how could he forget Bill? He’s… Just thinking about Bill not being in his life makes him nauseous. “Look, I can come over there if you want me to and explain it all in person or you can wait for Bill and let him do it.”

“Okay.”

“No, you got to say what you want. Bill’s on his way, Eddie just called him.”

“Who’s Eddie?” It shouldn’t be important, but it’s the second time in less than two minutes the name has popped up. He might even have seen it in the journal, he’s not sure now.

Richie chuckles. “Oh Eddie is the love of my life!”, he exclaims dramatically. “The answer to all my wishes, he’s literally the reason I’m alive. His mom’s not so bad ei-…Ow! Ow! Eds, stop! I’m just…” There’s some rustling on the other end and then a different voice speaks to him. “Hi, this is Eddie and I’m sorry my boyfriend is such an idiot.” In the distance, he can still hear Richie say: “He already knows that.”

Although this situation is weird and confusing and Stan still doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, he laughs. “I’m glad he finally admits it.”

The man, Eddie, laughs quietly. “Want us to stay on the phone with you until Bill arrives? I know you don’t know who I am… I just don’t want you to…”

Stan doesn’t wait for him to finish. “That would be great, yes.” He’s honestly a bit confused by Richie having a boyfriend, when did that happen? _During the past three years that you don’t remember, duh!_ He quickly shoves that thought away not wanting to think too much about that and having a panic attack while he’s on the phone with them.

“Want to talk dirty?”, Richie says and Stan rolls his eyes.

“Will you shut your mouth for a second?”, Eddie says. “Be normal.”

“Unfortunately that is his normal”, Stan sighs. He already feels Eddie’s pain. 

“Oh, I know.”

“Can you stop talking about me as if I’m not here? I can hear you fuckers teaming up on me.” There’s some more rustling. “Don’t you fucking push me, Eddie!”

“Shh, I’m bonding with Stan. You always say you want us to be friends.”

“Not like this.”

He pictures them in Richie’s apartment, fighting over who gets to hold the phone. Not that he knows what Eddie looks like, in his mind Richie is hanging off the shoulder of some faceless man.

“How did you guys meet?”, he asks, interrupting their little argument. Stan leans against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest.

Richie’s voice is dramatically wistful and he can picture him getting ready to act the whole thing out. “Oh, where do I start… It was a fine, wonderful day when I first laid eyes on the cutest person I’ve ever seen.”

“No!”, Eddie’s voice cuts in.

“What, you don’t think you’re the cutest person?”

“No, I am, but you’re not telling the story. You always get to tell the story and you always lie.”

“Would I ever?”

It’s nice listening to them go back and forth, it doesn’t require much on Stan’s part and it’s somehow calming. He doesn’t feel like he’s about to have a panic attack although he’s somehow travelled in time and jumped to the future, in which he doesn’t remember anything.

“Anyway”, Eddie says. “We met when Richie got into the wrong class at uni. He sat there for twenty minutes before he turned to me and asked if this was Developmental Psychology. It was not. He stayed anyway.”

“Well, of course I did”, Richie chimes in. “Because the cutest boy was sitting next to me. No offense, Stanley, but he really is.”

“And you just couldn’t resist the disaster that is Richie Tozier?”

“He played hard to get, but you know how much I like a challenge.”

“I did not play hard to get! I really didn’t like you.”

“But you do now, so joke’s on you!”

“What the hell are you even saying? Let me tell the story and stop interrupting. So as you know Richie is annoying and wouldn’t shut up during the rest of the lecture until I gave him my number.”

“Are you insane?”, Stan bursts in. Who just gives out his number to a random person who’s pestering you? That’s a sure way to get kidnapped or killed or whatever.

Eddie clears his throat. “Uh… I wanted to give him a fake one but I panicked and gave him my real one instead.”

“You what?!”, Richie shouts, so loud Stan has to hold the phone away from his ear.

“I never told you that?”, Eddie asks in a small voice.

“Lies!”, Richie cries. He’s probably clutching his heart or pretending to faint. “Our relationship is built on lies! How can I ever trust you again?”

Stan smiles to himself as Richie jumps into a whole monologue about trust and love. He can hear Eddie groaning and laughing, but he’s apparently unable to stop him now. It’s almost a relief when the door to his room opens, but he still tenses up, afraid some stranger might enter. It’s Bill though.

He looks different, but Stan doesn’t get the time to pinpoint what it is before Bill rushes to his side, worry in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”, Bill asks softly, placing a hand on his neck.

Stan nods. “Bill is here now, I’ll hang up”, he says into the phone, but he’s pretty sure neither of them hears it. As soon as he gets up, Bill envelops him in a hug, pressing him tightly against his chest. Stan doesn’t mind at all.

Bill presses his lips to the top of his head and sighs. “You had me w-w-worried.”

“Why? I’ve heard this is a thing that happens a lot”, he says, his voice muffled against the fabric of Bill’s sweater. He doesn’t really want to talk about his amnesia, just wants to pretend like everything is fine.

“Yeah” is all Bill has to say to that. The minutes tick by as they stand there, clinging to each other, neither of them speaking. He wonders what’s going through Bill’s head right now, but is also afraid to ask. He’s supposed to move in with Bill today and he doesn’t want to jeopardize that, why isn’t he living with him in the first place? Bill’s heart is racing, he can hear it with his ear pressed to Bill’s chest. Why is he so scared when this is a common thing? This relapsing? His arms, slung around Bill’s waist, squeeze a little tighter, trying to assure him everything is alright.

He starts talking then, his voice barely above a whisper, tells him about the past three years, about the mugging, about Stan relapsing every day, not knowing Bill or their friends, about Richie putting him in this home and Bill staying away, how Stan only recently started to remember him again. He finishes with assurances that everything is fine, that he has friends that care about him and he found ways to help him remember with the journals and pictures and videos on his phone.

If he’s hugged Bill before to calm him, it’s the other way around now. Hot tears make their way down his face as he clings to Bill, they soak Bill’s shirt and leave a salty taste in his mouth. Stan doesn’t even know what he’s crying about. It all seems bad to him, having to start over again whenever his brain decides to stop working. And did he really live without knowing Bill even existed for years? How did he manage that?

“Hey”, Bill hums softly, cupping Stan’s face in his hands, leaning back to get a better look at him. He wishes, he wouldn’t, doesn’t want Bill to see him all ugly like this with puffy eyes and wet, patchy skin. “You’re ok-k-kay. We’re figuring it out.”

Stan drops his gaze. “I have to stay here, don’t I?”

Bill brushes the tears away with his thumbs. “We’ll talk to your doctor, b-b-b-but I d-don’t see a reason why you can’t move… Unl-l-less you’d rather stay here?”

Stay here? Where he knows no one and nothing is familiar? Why would he do that? Stan gives a slight shake of his head. “I want to go with you.”

A warm smile stretches across Bill’s lips and it helps with Stan’s hurting heart, like some of the uncertainty just melts away and he can slowly start to believe it when they all say, he’s okay. At least he still knows one thing for sure: He loves Bill.

 

It’s almost two hours later, when they carry Stan’s boxes into Bill’s apartment. Bill has told him that he owned the coffee shop downstairs and that he moved, but it still catches Stan off-guard when he walks in and everything is so different. His eyes wander through the living room in search for something, anything that’s familiar.

The dull thud when Bill places the boxes next to the couch, draws his attention and his eyes fall on a picture frame on the side table. It’s not familiar, but he’s in it. He has one arm slung around Bill’s waist and they’re both dressed up, smiling brightly. Their friends are on either side of them. Bev and Richie next to Bill, Richie’s arm rests on the shoulder of a shorter man with brown hair. Next to Stan are Mike and Ben, who he just met earlier when Bill told him he had to say goodbye to his friends.

“That was Dance Night luh-last week”, Bill says, when he sees what Stan is looking at.

He picks up the picture and points at the unfamiliar face. “Is that Eddie?”

Bill nods, grabs his hand and pulls him down to sit next to him on the couch. As he starts to fumble in his pockets, Stan knows what’s about to happen. His stomach turns when he sees the leather bracelet in his hand.

 

_“We talked about this before”, Dr Pine said. She held the bracelet out for him to take and Stan did so with shaking fingers. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but there’s just something about wearing a medical bracelet that made him uneasy. His fingertips brushed over the small metal plate with his name, Richie’s phone number and the amnesia diagnosis on it._

_“It’s just a precaution in case you relapse while you’re alone somewhere. Mostly as a reminder for you, but if you get lost, this will let people know how to help you.”_

He doesn’t want to wear the bracelet, doesn’t want people to know about how messed up he is. Why can’t it just be like today? Where he finds his journal and calls Richie himself? Well, he knows why not; him finding the journal had been completely by chance, if he doesn’t know about them, he can’t go looking for them and that’s why the bracelet is there. To remind him. He still hates it, but he lets Bill slip it onto his wrist.

“You’ve imp-p-p-p-p…” Bill stops, takes a breath and tries again. “You’ve gotten so much b-b-better. You don’t have to wear this forever.” He takes Stan’s hand in both of his, enveloping him in warmth and safety. It makes Stan smile despite himself. At least someone is optimistic about all of this. “The bedroom is that way”, Bill says and points at one of the doors. “I m-made some room in the cl-l-l-loset for you.”

“You want me to live in the closet?”, Stan asks, smirking. “We’re not living out your weird Harry Potter fetish.”

Bill snorts and pulls away from him. “Shut up! Why don’t you sort your st-t-tuff out and I’ll get us some l-lunch?”

“Already leaving me alone in your apartment?” For some reason, the thought of being alone in here makes him feel claustrophobic. It will take some getting used to being here and he would feel a lot better if Bill stayed with him, but he doesn’t want to be clingy, so he says it as a joke.

“Our apartment”, Bill says, gets up from the couch and takes a key from the board next to the door and gives it to Stan. His fingers close around the cold metal. It doesn’t really feel significant right now, but he’s already thinking about the last time he had his own keys. It’s been years. “I won’t b-be long.”

He waits until the door slams shut behind Bill before he grabs his suitcase and heads into the bedroom. Without Bill here the apartment feels cold and empty, almost like he’s intruding. Maybe it would help if he called Bev or Richie again, but he doesn’t do it. He’s a grown man, he can handle being alone for a little while. He’ll just have to keep himself busy.

Organizing his clothes is a somewhat relaxing activity, until he runs out of space. He didn’t think he’d have that much stuff, but maybe Bill’s closet is just tiny. Standing on tiptoes he can just reach the upper shelf, there’s some room there. He already knows he’ll hate having to get stuff from up there, but it’ll do for now.

When his fingers brush against something, he stretches even further, but can’t really get a good grip on it. It feels like a cardboard box. Maybe he should just leave it there, but curiosity has gotten the better of him and he’s already back in the living room, pulling Bill’s desk chair after him to get a better look. It’s probably just old college stuff or something from his travels.

It’s not. Stan is standing frozen on the chair holding a shoebox in his hands that has his name on it. A small voice tells him to just leave it, that he doesn’t want to know what’s inside, but Stan ignores it. He sits on the bed, running his hands over the lid before slowly opening it, tentatively, as if something might jump out at him. The first thing he sees are pictures that used to be in their old apartment, just all the pictures of them that he hadn’t been able to find in this one. Bill must’ve put them away during the time they weren’t seeing each other. He carefully puts them aside, maybe they can get some of them back on the walls later, although he probably shouldn’t tell Bill, he went through his stuff.

There’s an old shirt of his, but it’s when Stan picks it up and he can see what’s left in the box, that his heart stops. His hands fist in the soft fabric as he stares wide-eyed at the small jewellery box. Is that…? Did they…? He rakes his brain for any memories of engagement, but nothing comes up. He remembers feeling like he might marry Bill someday, but that’s it. Maybe Bill proposed? And he forgot?

His fingers are shaking as he grabs for the velvet box. It pops open easily, revealing a simple silver ring. He quickly shuts it again and throws it back into the box as if it burned his hand. Why didn’t Bill tell him about this? Did he say no? Is that why? But he would never say no to Bill.

The only thing left in the box is a small USB drive. It’s not his though, not the one he used for all his assignments and stuff, what’s it doing in a box with his name on it? Stan glances at his watch, Bill said he wouldn’t be gone long and he doesn’t want him to see Stan has found the box, especially not after finding the ring, but he also wants to know if there’s anything on the USB drive. There has to be, right? If there wasn’t, Bill wouldn’t hold on to it.

The next moment, he’s already taken the drive and opened Bill’s laptop that he left on the desk in the living room, all the while telling himself what he’s doing is wrong and he should just put everything back. Then he could check his journals if Bill ever said anything about an engagement and bring it up later. That would be the reasonable thing to do, but he’s already typing in Bill’s passcode, hoping he didn’t change it. He hasn’t.

He’s shaking so badly, it takes him five tries to finally get the drive into the port and when he opens it, there’s only one thing on it. It’s a video.

 

Stan recognizes himself immediately, but he doesn’t remember making this video. He’s standing in front of that club Richie loves, Hella’s Claw. The camera pans up to the gothic letters above the doors, before Stan smiles at the camera and walks inside. The club is empty and the person filming him is now walking right next to him. _“I still remember Richie begging me for hours to go to this concert with him. ‘Stan, The Kicked Puppies are playing and they are fucking amazing and you will forever be a huge loser if you don’t come!’ I only agreed to come so he would shut the fuck up.”_ Stan now pulls ahead as he walks towards the stage, but he keeps talking while the camera is trained on his back _. “The Kicked Puppies weren’t bad, but you know what I really liked about that night? There were a lot more people here and my huge buffoon friend stopped out of nowhere.”_

Stan stops and the person holding the camera runs into him, making Stan turn around and smile at the camera. _“See! This is exactly what happened and I was so ready to snap at the idiot who spilt his drink all over me. Only I couldn’t.”_ He looks over his shoulder at the band that’s taking their places at the instruments. _“The Kicked Puppies weren’t bad”,_ he repeats and grins when the bassist behind him yells something. _“No offense, guys. Actually, that was probably my favourite concert because I got to meet you.”_ The band hollers again and Stan’s cheeks turn red, but he’s still smiling happily at the camera.

When the band starts playing, the lights dim with a single spot on Stan in the middle of the empty club. He stands there listening to the music for a while, before he continues to talk, surprisingly loud and clear over the music. _“From the moment I met you, I knew you were special. I mean, I didn’t even shout at you for ruining my shirt and you know that says a lot. Bill, when I’m with you, I’m the happiest, I ever will be. I love falling asleep in your arms. I love that your face is the first thing I see in the morning. I love Pancake Sundays. I love the way you sing along to the car radio. I love our long walks. I love coming home to you and I love making plans for the future with you. I love you! Just everything about you. The only thing that could make me even happier…”_ Stan pulls a small black box out of his pocket and gets down on one knee, presenting a simple silver ring to the camera. _“is you agreeing to spend the rest of your life with me. Will you marry me?”_

 

 

Even when the screen turns black, Stan keeps staring at it. He proposed? He fucking proposed? And nobody told him? He found the band that played when they first met and got them to make this dumb video in the dumb club they met? Stan is a 100% sure none of this is mentioned in his journals even though he hasn’t gotten to read them thoroughly yet, because if he knew about it, he would’ve written it on the first page along with all the other important stuff. Why didn’t they tell him? And how do you propose to someone and then forget all about it? How do you buy a ring and make a video and just forget?

At this point he’s gasping for air, but it’s like his lungs have shut down, refusing to expand. His chest is in pain, like someone squeezing him too tight, a bearhug from anxiety if you will. His heart is fighting against it, hammering against his ribs with all its might, but they just won’t budge. His vision is blurring as he fumbles for the USB drive and pulls it out of the laptop, he knocks some papers and pens off the desk instead.

Pressing a hand to his chest, he inhales forcefully, pressing a little bit of air through his closed-up windpipe. It somehow hurts more than not breathing at all. He might have a heart attack right now, wouldn’t that just be great? First day of living together and Bill returns to find his boyfriend dead on the living room floor. Or is it fiancé? Did he say no? Is that why nobody told him about the proposal? When his knees give, he almost hits his chin on the edge of the desk but ends up just scraping his nose against it. What if this was a mistake? What if there’s more they haven’t told him? What if he doesn’t even know who Bill is anymore?

His vision is starting to shrink now, blackness slowly moving in from all sides, and his ears are filled with the sound of blood rushing through his veins, like waves breaking at shore. But then there’s someone grabbing him, strong arms lifting him up and a voice from far away calling his name just before the darkness swallows him whole and the pain disappears.

 

When he wakes up, he feels exhausted as if he’s just run a marathon, but there are gentle fingers in his hair and his cheek is pressed into a jeans-clad thigh that smells like home. It takes him a moment to remember what happened. His mind is still a little sluggish, but then it comes back. The ring. The video. The proposal.

“How are you feel-l-ling?”, Bill asks softly, apparently sensing that he’s awake.

Stan keeps his eyes shut for a few more seconds, then turns his head to look up at him. It’s hard to tell if Bill’s lips are pressed together in concern or pity, but it doesn’t matter, because Stan wants neither.

“Great”, he replies shortly.

Bill’s fingers still in his hair. “I… I forg-g-g-g-GOT that box was st-t-till there. I haven’t l-l-l-looked at it in a long time.”

He doesn’t know what to think of it all. Why would Bill keep it, if it didn’t mean anything to him? But why would he not tell him about the proposal? And if he hasn’t told him about this, are there more things he’s hiding from him? It’s not so much the keeping secrets that angers Stan, it’s that Bill is taking advantage of his amnesia to do so. If it wasn’t for his condition he’d remember all of this.

“What happened?” He sits up slowly, not completely trusting his body after just passing out. “You didn’t like the ring?”

Bill holds his gaze long enough for Stan to question his decision to be confrontational about this. Maybe he said yes? He gives a slight shake of his head, his lips twitch before he speaks: “I liked it. I would have s-s-s-said yes.” He swallows. “I d-didn’t see the video or the ruh-ruh-ring until after… You got mugged ah-after filming it.”

“Oh…”

He can’t remember any of it obviously, but he can imagine walking out of that club all happy and excited to show the video to Bill, to present him with the ring in his pocket, to ask him to be with him forever and then… Then some asshole comes along and ruins it all and tries to steal his stuff, tries to take the ring from him and Stan can’t just let him have it. Is that how it happened?

New anger takes over now, he can feel it bubbling in his stomach. A new kind of hate he hasn’t felt for anyone before and now he hates, no loathes, this faceless person who ruined everything, who almost took it all from him and separated him and Bill. Mostly he hates that the person doesn’t even exist, not really. According to Bill they never found out who did it, nobody faced repercussions for this. He could’ve died and the person responsible is still out there living their life as if nothing happened.

Suddenly hit with the unfairness of it all and no outlet for his hate, Stan feels hot, angry tears build up and he just doesn’t have the energy to stop them. What did he ever do to the universe to deserve all this shit? How did Bill deserve this?

“I’m so sorry”, he whispers, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. He shouldn’t have gotten mad at him, shouldn’t have thought Bill would use his condition like that. And if he’d just figured out a better way to propose instead of that stupid video, they wouldn’t even have this conversation right now.

Bill reaches out and brushes the tears from his cheeks, but it only makes him cry harder, quiet sobs escaping his lips. It’s just not fair! Bill would’ve said yes, they could’ve been married, could’ve travelled all the places Bill wanted to see on their honeymoon. Stan lets himself be pulled into Bill’s chest, who goes back to carding his fingers through Stan’s hair. He wants to scream, wants to break something, demand a do-over from whoever is in charge.

“Me too”, Bill says. “I didn’t t-t-tell anyone. It would’ve m-m-made it worse if they’d known.”

“Did you…” He takes a shaky breath. “Did you think I would… I would remember?”

“Hoped maybe.”

Bill brings his legs up around him and they sit huddled together like this, Stan completely wrapped up in Bill’s long limbs as he tries to be okay again. He tries to picture himself in Bill’s shoes, wonders what he would’ve done, but he just doesn’t know. It’s already hard enough to understand his own role in all of this. It freaks him out that there are so many days of his life that he doesn’t remember, like someone else was in control of his body.

“You d-don’t rem-m-m-member planning it either?”

Stan tries to shake his head, but is unable to with the way he’s pressed into Bill. “No. I mean… I remember thinking about marrying you. I knew that’s where I wanted us to go, but… I hadn’t planned to propose or anything.”

Bill sighs, resting his chin on Stan’s head. “Yeah, I wanted that too.”

That had never been something Stan worried about, he’d always been sure he and Bill wanted the same thing, but hearing him talk about it in past tense now, makes his heart flutter nervously. Stan still wants that. It’s the only thing he knows about his future, that Bill is by his side. He takes a deep breath with his nose buried in Bill’s soft sweater. He smells clean with a hint of freshly ground coffee, but mostly he smells like himself, like home.

“I’m scared”, he admits, holding onto Bill tighter, unwilling to look at him while he speaks. “I still want that, but I know everything is different now. I just don’t know how different and it scares me.”

“You’re going to t-t-t-take your time get-t-ting caught up”, Bill says. His voice is calm and sure and it eases Stan’s mind a little bit. “And you’ll see it’s n-not that dif-f-f-f-f-f… that it hasn’t changed that m-much.”

“But I’ll forget again, and we’ll have to do this again.”

“Probably. It d-d-doesn’t matter.” As if sensing Stan is about to protest, Bill kisses the top of his head. “Bec-c-c-cause I love you.”

Slowly he untangles himself from Bill to be able to look at him. He reaches out to trace the pale freckles on his nose at the same time as Bill tries to wipe away the traces of his tears and their hands knock against each other. Bill’s worried expression breaks, his eyes crinkle as his large smile takes up more and more of his face. A small giggle bubbles out from Stan’s chest. He feels light all of a sudden, wants to believe Bill when he says nothing much has changed, that all the important stuff is still as he remembers it.

He leans in until their noses touch. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nobody wants to read another relapse, but they do still happen quite often for Stan. The last chapter is going to be an epilogue to wrap this all up.


	12. Epilogue - Just A Little Bit Longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of a proposal, Stan makes Bill a promise he hopes he can keep.

“It’s day 336”, he says, looking at himself in the front facing camera of his phone and fixing his curls. “More specifically it’s the 25th of October and Richie is shitting his pants. It’s hilarious.”

He turns the camera to Richie pacing in the living room, chewing on his bottom lip. Stan can’t remember a time he’s seen Richie more nervous than today. As sweet as it is, Stan can’t help himself but tease his best friend for being such a wreck about proposing. As if Eddie is going to say no.

“What time is it?”

“Last time you asked it was 2:21, now it’s 2:21 and ten seconds”, he responds, turning the camera back on himself. “Richie is going to propose to Eddie today. I don’t know if I’m more surprised Richie is going to do the whole marriage thing or that there’s actually someone out there who’ll willingly bind themselves to him.”

“Can you cut that crap out, Stan?”, Richie hisses. “What if he doesn’t want to? Is it too early? I should just not do it, right?”

He stops the recording to try and talk some sense into his mess of a friend. Too early… Stan grins. He planned on proposing to Bill after a little over two years, so he definitely has Richie beat in that point. Grabbing Richie by the elbows, he stops the pacing, making him look at him. “You should do it and you’re going to. Not only is Eddie going to say yes, because he’s so gone for you, but you’ve also roped all of us into this and today is the only day I will let you record me singing.” He runs a thumb over Richie’s lip that’s still trapped under his large front teeth, can’t have him bite it bloody again.

A goofy smile spreads across Richie’s face. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Sickeningly so.” Stan nods. “You both are.”

“Aww, you’re just jealous you’re not my number one man anymore.” Richie pulls him into a hug that Stan only mildly protests against. “Don’t worry, babe, you still have a special place in my heart.”

“Just promise me you’ll save all your serenading for Eddie and we’re good”, he says, rolling his eyes even if Richie can’t see it.

Richie gives a short, sharp laugh and lets go of Stan to grab his guitar from the couch. His fingers move over the strings easily, eliciting a small cheery melody from them. “I can’t make promises I can’t keep. Who’s going to sing Rick Astley to you if not me?”

“Hopefully nobody.”

“Oh you love it, Stanny boy.” Before Stan can stop him, he starts playing the damned song and he has to listen to Richie’s off-key rendition of Never Gonna Give You Up. He only lets him do it, because it seems to calm his nerves.

“You know maybe you should change the song”, Stan says. “I’d love to see Eddie strangle you when you propose by rickrolling him.”

At least that makes him stop singing. “But that’s your song.”

“Can I get a new one?”

“Nope”, Richie says, popping the P at the end.

Once he puts the guitar down, he is back to nervously pacing. He even digs the little box out of his pocket and looks at the ring. It looks shockingly classy for something Richie has picked out, but Stan was with him when he did and he knows about the inscription. Sappy, but sure to push Eddie’s buttons.

He glances at his watch. “Put on your jacket.” It’s not time yet, but if he’s going to be cooped up in here with Richie for any longer, he’ll die. And maybe, just maybe he’s a little nervous too. He knows Eddie is going to say yes, but what if the proposal doesn’t turn out the way they had planned it?

He watches as Richie’s nerves get the better of him and he drops the ring, then loses his glasses as he goes to pick it up. It takes him three tries to zip his jacket and then he almost leaves without his guitar. It’s a blessing that Stan is on day 336 and Richie doesn’t have to take care of him anymore, because right now it’s hard to believe he was ever good at that.

With all that time to kill, Stan holds onto Richie’s elbow in an attempt to slow him down. It won’t do them any good if they arrive at the park way before everyone else, that just gives Richie more time to think of all the ways this could go wrong.

“Maybe I should’ve gone with the cat idea”, Richie says. “Eddie loves the cat, he wouldn’t be able to say no then.”

“Your cat is the most stubborn creature on this planet and it would’ve run away with the ring”, Stan says, tired of pointing out how there’s no way Eddie would say no to Richie. “You tried to train it for weeks with no success.”

“Maybe Banana Bacon is against it. That’s it, isn’t it? Even our fucking cat doesn’t want us to get married.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me. Animals are not homophobic, we’re not having this conversation again.”

“Then why is he always cockblocking me, hmm?”

“’Cause he’s in love with Eddie.”

“The only thing we have in common.”

Stan rolls his eyes at him, then lets him go on rambling about the cat. For someone who claims to be at war with their pet, he seems to like it just fine. Maybe that’s because all his videos about the cat get him a ton of views. Stan doesn’t care either way, he’s just grateful that Richie has found something else to think about for now.

When they arrive at the park, Bev is already there. Sitting on a bench under a tree with beautiful red and golden leaves. She jumps up and skips towards them, her green dress bouncing with every step. She takes one look at Richie and immediately fumbles for a cigarette.

He shakes his head. “I can’t. Don’t want to smell like an ashtray when I propose.”

“Fair.” She keeps the cigarette between her fingers for a while, then pushes it back into the pack in solidarity. “The one time you could really use one.”

“Don’t get him started again.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Stanley, am I an inconvenience to you?”

“You always are.”

Before he can react, Richie has slung an arm around his neck and is messing up his hair. As much as he tries to push him off, Stan is stuck.

“Take that back!”, Richie exclaims. “Take it back and tell me you love me!”

“Fuck off, Richie!”

“You loooove me!”

“Get off!”

“Say it and I will!”

Bev is laughing, he can see she’s enjoying herself at a safe distance and feels betrayed. Isn’t she his friend? She should help him out and get this mad man off him.

“Richie, for fucks sake, get off me!”

“Say you love me!”

“That may work on Eddie but no me”, he responds. He’s not fighting against Richie anymore, just trying to dig his fingers under Richie’s arm so he doesn’t suffocate.

“Nah, Eddie isn’t that into choking”, Richie says between laughs.

“Gross!”

Richie gets careless and Stan is able to turn his head enough to bite his hand. With a howl Richie releases him and Stan quickly takes several steps away from him, his hands flying up to fix his hair.

“You fucking bit me!”

“Boys”, Bev sighs, but she’s still grinning. “Maybe act your age?”

Richie rubs his hand where Stan bit him and pouts at both of them. “You didn’t even say you love me.”

Stan doesn’t respond just glares at him. He just jumped him in the middle of the day in a park and attacked him like a middle schooler. One shouldn’t think he was in his twenties and about to propose to his boyfriend. “Bev is right. How old are you? Twelve?”

“Yes, on a scale of 1-10 of how disappointed are you in your best friend.”

“Good luck finding a new one. I pick Bev.”

“You can’t! I knew her first.”

He’s glad when he sees Mike and Ben walking towards them. He’d thought they’d get here with Bev in the first place, but maybe that was exactly the point. They’d moved out of the home not long ago and found an apartment together, which worked fine since they balanced each other out, but they still had their friends check in on them periodically. Maybe they got tired of the babysitting. Stan could understand. In the beginning Bill hadn’t wanted to let him go anywhere by himself, too afraid he’d relapse when he was on his own. It had gotten so bad that he’d actually snuck out one time while Bill was working in the café. That had resulted in a huge fight, but it was worth it in the end, at least Bill had stopped worrying so much and he got to feel a little more like himself. He could understand if Mike and Ben feel smothered by them.

After a brief greeting, Richie is back to panicking, walking around the spot he picked out, trying to find the best place for them to stand, shooing away people that are in his way. Oddly enough no one argues with him, he probably gives off too much crazy vibes.

“Here”, he declares after a while, standing directly under the big colourful tree. “Then Bev and Stan behind me. Mike, you brought the camera, right?” Mike holds it up and Richie continues: “Okay, you stand over there, then you can get us and still capture Eddie’s reaction.”

“Do you... uh… really want to… to capture it?”, Ben asks. “It’s a… personal moment.”

He still speaks very slowly, needing to think about what words to use for longer than other people, often choosing a word that doesn’t quite fit, but he doesn’t need to rely on friends or his aid anymore.

“Are you kidding me, Ben? I absolutely need this recorded otherwise Eddie will forever deny that he cried when I proposed and that can’t be happening.”

Sure, Stan thinks, it has nothing to do with Richie wanting to put this whole thing on his youtube channel and let a million people make fun of their singing. He kind of misses the times when he wouldn’t put Stan in his videos out of respect or something.

“How come they don’t have to sing?”, Stan mutters, but Richie still hears him.

“Didn’t have any dirt on them”, he says, grinning.

To be completely honest, Stan doesn’t mind helping Richie out even if it involves singing. First of all, his singing voice is a million times better than Richie’s and second of all, he owes Richie so much, he’ll probably never be able to make it up to him.

“Besides”, Richie adds. “Ben helped me write this baby and Mike’s already offered me dancing lessons for the wedding. So you guys got to step up.”

This time Bev does the eyerolling, because Stan might have helped Richie with the ring and they both helped him plan the proposal, but Bev has already started sketches for both Richie’s and Eddie’s tuxedos and all in all done everything she can to help him out.

Just as Stan is about to call him out for being ungrateful, his phone buzzes with a message from Bill. “They’re on their way.”

“Oh shit! Everyone get into position!”

Stan doesn’t know if Richie wants them to strike a pose or whatever so he just stands next to Bev and watches as Richie almost strangles himself with his guitar strap, runs a thousand times to Mike and back to make sure he’s got just the right perspective, then positioning Ben in ten different spots until he finally returns to stand in front of Stan and Bev.

“Relax”, Stan says, placing a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Yes”, Bev adds, kissing his cheek. “You are the cutest boyfriend, Eddie won’t be able to resist you.”

Whatever response Richie would’ve had to this is forgotten, when they spot Bill and Eddie walking towards them. Bill is grinning so big, it makes Stan momentarily forget that this is Richie and Eddie’s moment, and he smiles back with all the love in his heart.

“What’s this?”, Eddie asks, when he sees them all standing there and notices the camera in Mike’s hand and how people around them are stopping to watch as well.

Stan tries to keep his eyes on Bill as Richie starts playing the song. They’ve rehearsed this more than was necessary considering he and Bev are only here to harmonize and join in on the chorus, but Richie can be really nit-picky when it comes to things he cares about; he’s still very nervous with so many people here to watch them.

It’s a good thing Ben helped Richie write the song. Stan has a feeling there’d be a lot more innuendos and mom jokes in there – there still are some, but it’s Richie, who’s surprised? – than would be good for a proposal. Mostly it’s really sweet though and Stan can see Eddie is tearing up, even though Richie sounds horrible, even more so when his voice cracks as he starts to cry too. Maybe he can blame the tears later for his awful singing. Stan still tries to help him out by singing just a little bit louder.

Whenever they rehearsed the song, it felt like it would never end, but now Richie is grabbing the ring from his pocket and Stan feels like they just started, but maybe Richie forgot all the rest of the words and is trying to just get it over now before he is a crying mess. Well, it’s too late for that.

“Eds”, Richie says as he goes down on one knee, presenting him with the ring. “Will you marry me?”

And that is Eddie’s cue to jump into his arms and then everyone can congratulate them, but he doesn’t do that. Eddie sniffs and brushes the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

“On one condition”, he says, his voice surprisingly steady.

There’s no way Eddie is saying no, there just isn’t. Still, Stan’s heart is racing, thinking of how bad this is going to end if Eddie isn’t just making a joke or something. He’s never seen Richie heartbroken before, but he assumes it’ll be bad. Either a lot of drinking and partying or wallowing in self-pity on his couch. He finds Bill’s eyes again, and… he’s smirking? Okay, something is definitely up.

Eddie smiles and kneels in front of Richie, presenting him with his own ring. “Only if you take this ring.”

Richie surges forward and kisses him, but he’s pouting when he leans back. “You can’t just bomb my proposal with your own proposal, Eds. And never do that again, I was about to have a fucking heart attack!”

Eddie just grins, pushing his ring onto Richie’s finger. “Maybe you need to be better at keeping secrets. I found the ring last week, you idiot.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t snoop around my stuff, Spaghetti man.”

“Okay, that’s it, give me the ring back! I’m not marrying a man who calls me Spaghetti man.”

Richie jerks his hand away from Eddie, curling it into a fist and admiring the shiny piece of jewellery. “No takebacks, love.”

At the nickname, Eddie’s frown turns into a mushy smile. Instead of grabbing for Richie’s hand, he stretches, grabs a hold of his collar to pull Richie down and kisses him, kisses him as if nobody is around and as sweet as it is, it’s also a bit much. Bev wolf whistles, but it doesn’t stop them, Richie just flips her off without letting go of Eddie or opening his eyes.

“Uh… should I keep filming?”, Mike asks, lowering the camera.

“I think we’ve g-got enough”, Bill says.

Once Eddie and Richie are done eating each other’s faces, they head to the Cracked Mug to celebrate. There’s an amazing red velvet cake Lana – their baker – has made especially for them and they all get their cups with coffee art by Bill. It’s his favourite thing about working in the coffee shop – not that he does a lot of work around here other than sitting at a table and write on his next book – and Stan is not one to complain when there’s a different design on his coffee every morning. Mostly birds or hearts, but he enjoys them all the same.

There’s a lot of wedding talk. Richie throws out ridiculous ideas and Eddie shoots them all down. _“No, Richie, I’m not walking down the aisle with a bouquet of bacon roses!” – “Think about your allergies.” – “The only thing I’m allergic to is your sense of humour.”_

“Just get married in Vegas”, Mike says. “I’m already getting a headache listening to you.”

“What do you say, Eds? Me, in an Elvis costume?”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Technically that was a resp-p-p-ponse.”

Eddie glares at Bill, who only grins and shrugs. Stan reaches for Bill’s hand under the table. It’s been a while since he thought about their own engagement and how it never happened, but it’s impossible not to on a day like this. This should’ve been them four years ago. It still hurts a little, but knowing this will be them sometime in the future, makes it sting less. He’s gone almost a year without relapsing, something no one had deemed possible. There is hope.

“You should get…uh… an… get uhm… a wedding… manager”, Ben suggests.

“A wedding planner?”, Richie repeats, looking at Eddie for a brief moment before both of them shake their heads at the same time. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You guys are going to kill each other over the choice of music”, Bev points out. “No, over everything.”

Richie laughs. “Yeah, so? The wedding is like this last big test, if we can’t survive that we won’t survive marriage, right, love?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “That’s how you know I love you. Four years and I still haven’t killed you.”

“My man is a romantic”, Richie coos. And then he’s pressing kisses all over Eddie’s face, something he’d normally object to, but today he just lets it happen, giggling quietly at his fiancé’s behaviour.

 

Later, when everyone’s gone and they are upstairs, Bill excuses himself to go write. He’s very quiet now that they’re alone. Stan sits on the couch, writing every single detail about today down in his journal, but he can’t stop glancing back at Bill sitting at his desk. They talked about the proposal a lot after his latest relapse and he had to read about it in his journal, but Stan had stopped bringing it up when he saw how much it hurt Bill. There was probably still part of him that felt guilty about it, even though Stan had assured him plenty of times how dumb that was. And who knows how often they’ve had the same conversation? Luckily, he had written a lot about it in his journals and he didn’t have to ask Bill the same questions over and over, hurting him more in the process.

The box with his name doesn’t exist anymore, the pictures are all back on the walls, the shirt in his closet, but Stan keeps the ring and the USB drive in the drawer of his bedside table. Sometimes when he’s alone, he watches it. How is he supposed to come up with another proposal that’s better than that? He can’t just give Bill the ring, not after everything they’ve been through. It has to be big. He’s thought about proposing again, but until he’s figured out the perfect way to do it, he won’t.

It hasn’t occurred to him until now that his silence on the topic might be what’s bothering Bill. _What if he thinks I don’t want to marry him anymore?_ Stan watches Bill’s back, trying to figure out if that is the case. He’s barely written anything in the past hour, the usual sound of keys clacking as his fingers fly over them almost absent.

Determined, he closes his journal and walks into the bedroom. He might not be ready to propose, but he’s not letting Bill doubt his commitment to him.

With the ring in his hand, he approaches Bill, turning him in his chair so he can face him.

“Stan, what’s…” Bill stops talking when he sees the small box in his hand, his eyes widening.

Stan straddles him, bringing their foreheads together. “I love you”, he says as he presses a soft kiss to Bill’s lips, then pulls back so they can both see the ring, he’s placed on the desk. “I’m still going to marry you, I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually.”

“Y-you have?”

“Of course.” He smiles. “It’s all I want. It’s just… When we do get married, I want to remember it. I want to remember the vows, the first dance, the reception. I want to remember who cried more, you, me or Ben.”

“It’s g-g-g-going to be my mom”, Bill says.

“It’s going to be a great wedding, everybody better be shedding some tears. I’ll kick them in the shins if they don’t.” He pauses and then goes back to what he was trying to say originally. “I want to remember it all and not just because Richie filmed the whole thing or I wrote about it in my journal. I want to actually remember how it feels to get married to you.”

“You don’t want to ruh-ruh-relapse.”

Stan nods. “As much as I want there to be a definitive point where the doctors will call me cured and I won’t ever relapse again, I know that’s not how this works.”

“I c-c-can wait”, Bill says, raising his hand to caress Stan’s cheek. “As luh-long as it takes.”

He leans into the touch, closing his eyes. “I know I can never be sure, so I set myself a date. If I can go a whole year without relapsing, I’ll take that as a sign that I’m ready.” Tapping the box, he continues: “Until then I want you to remember that this is yours. Always has been, always will.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back, pressing him closer. Bill presses his face into his shoulder and Stan’s hands come up to play with his hair. “I want you. I will always want you.”

Bill makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, his arms squeezing Stan tighter. A little too tight for comfort, but he won’t complain.

“The most imp-p-portant thing is that I’m with you. Be that as your b-b-b-boyfriend, your fiancé or your husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I liked it a lot, but editing it a week later... I'm not so sure. But anyway that's the end of this.   
> If you feel like there are things I left unanswered or want to yell at me for making this a Reddie proposal instead of Stenbrough, find me on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr @itchierichie


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